
Book. ■ (^/?r ^ 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSITS 



THE FOREST 
LAND OF PENN 



By 



FANNY SPANGENBERG 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
1909 



Copyright 1909 by Fanny Spangenberg 



All Rights Reserved 






The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



|U3RARY of CONGRESS 
Tv/n Cnoio* Received 

J UN 14 lyuy 

Copyngnt entry ^ 



Dedicated To 

MY CHILDREN 

And 

Grandchildren 



CONTENTS 

Page 

The Mission of the Book 9 

The Forest Land of Penn 10 

The Coming of William Penn 17 

The Captive's Return 22 

The News from France 25 

Burning of Hannastown 30 

Bald Eagle's Nest 51 

The Runaway 55 

Violet Hill 58 

The Dead Trees of Muddy Creek 61 

Washington's Birthday 63 

De Soto 66 

Across the Bar 67 

Sky Rocket Heights 69 

This Beautiful World 71 

The Fisherman's Wife 73 

Christmas in Norway 77 

Upward 80 

Bright Mountain Stream 82 

Firelight Dreamings 84 

Amid the Storm 86 

Communion With Nature 88 

A Fantasie 89 

Yon Stream and Mill 91 

What Bringeth the Day 93 

Sweet Voices of the Night 94 

The Spring-time of the Soul 95 

March 97 

April and May 99 

June loi 

Summer 102 

Indian Summer 103 

Shadows 104 

A Boat Song 105 

5 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Duke Donald io6 

A Sabbath Day at Sea 112 

Life's Not All a Summer Day 114 

Were I Upon a Desert Isle 115 

Sunrise 116 

My Little Bird 117 

The Autumn Morn iig 

The Sleeping Child 120 

Gone 121 

Love Lies Dead 122 

The Chieftain's Farewell 123 

Retrospection 125 

My Dear Old Home 127 

For an Album 128 

The Stars Seem Brighter 130 

The Mournful Rain 131 

The Exile from Erin 132 

Dreams 134 

The Lost Sheep 135 

A Legend of the Northern Sea 136 

Little Charlie 141 

Happy Hours 142 

Years Gone By 143 

Give Moonlit Hours 1 44 

Too Late 1 45 

'Tis Darkest Ere Day 1 47 

To-morrow 149 

Cupid 1 50 

Life 1 50 

The Isle of the Southern Sea 151 

Christmas-Tide I53 



THE FOREST LAND OF PENN 



THE MISSION OF THE BOOK 

Go little book and gather flowers — 

Evangels of life's happy hours; 
And blooms that grew in olden times; 

Remembrances of other climes. 
Gather them on your pages fair, 

In safety keep them treasured there — 
That they may bring in days to come 

Some loving thoughts to friends of home. 
With tender words of love and truth 

Recall the days of our youth; 
Glints of bright sunshine catch and hold 

To cheer us up when we grow old. 

Time in his flight takes the slumbering years, 

And bears them away from our sight. 
The scenes of the past grow dim to our eyes, 
For ever and ever new visions arise, 

Before us and draw us away from those days, 
Whose tenderest memories, hid from our gaze. 
Are embalmed by our love and remembrance and 
tears. 

So let us halt e'en old Time, and bid him recall 
The old stirring warfares, the perils, and all 
That roused men to action, to deeds that shall be 

A heritage proud while our land remains free. 

Casting around it a halo of light. 



THE FOREST LAND OF PENN 

"Breathes there a man with soul so dead" — 

The patriotic poet said: 

Lives there a child that should not be 

Taught love of home and liberty? 

The fondest tendrils of his heart 

Round his own country should entwine, 

That he, if e'er its praise be sung, 

May proudly say "That land is mine." 

'Tis only when in foreign lands, 

Lonely and strange, our footsteps roam, 

We truly feel the ties that draw 

Our longing hearts to "home, sweet home." 

In other lands of song and story, 

The snows of many winters lie 

Upon their mountain summits high. 

Around their castled ruins hoary, 

Tradition throws her misty veil — 

Through which shines out a glamour bright, 

That o'er the ages' starless night 

Gleams with a wierd, delusive light, 

And glorifies each olden tale; 

Gilding the ruins of the past 

That o'er those Eastern lands are cast. 

The patriotic heart can find 

In our own land rich legendry; 

Among its mountains, lakes, and streams, 

A wondrous, grand, wild scenery. 

Its mighty rivers to the sea 

Can float the largest argosy. 

Where high its lofty mountains frown, 

Eternal snows their summits crown; — 

Undying kings — they endless reign 

lO 



Over a broad and wild domain. 
The narrow valleys quiet rest 
Far down within earth's tranquil breast. 
The rivers, with untiring art, 
Cut deep within her stony heart, 
And from the canyon's rocky bed 
Reflect the blue of skies o'erhead. 
Its inland seas their waters pour 
Down to the deep with sullen roar, 
Where strong Niagara's mists arise, 
All rainbow-tinted to the skies. 

On Arizona's desert rocks 

Her dwellings stand in loneliness, 

Where once the dwellers of the cliffs 

Peopled the barren wilderness. 

Ruins of ancient cities tell 

Of some strong nation primeval; 

And scattered earth-mounds bear the trace 

Of some forgotten, vanished race. 

With wonders unexplored at home. 

No need in foreign climes to roam. 

What old-time memories arise 

From every dale and woodland glen 

Within our own dear, native land, 

The fertile forest land of Penn. 

On Pennsylvania's mountain slopes. 

Where morning's sunny beams are glowing. 

Where'er her mountain streamlets wind. 

How many blossoms rare we find. 

How many old-time flowers are growing. 

Historic recollections twine 

Around the banks of Brandywine; 

And round the lone, neglected spot. 

Where Braddock rests — the world forgot. 
From where the misty mountains blue 
II 



Divide to let the current thro', 
Where Delaware comes winding down 
By wood and meadow, field and town; 
Upon whose deep'ning, swelling tide 
Float down the ships to ocean wide; 
From whose fair city o'er the world 
The wings of traffic are unfurled — 
To where Fort Pitt once blackened stood. 
And Allegheny meets the stream 
Of dark Monongahela's flood; 
Where broad Ohio sweeps along 
Toward Mississippi's current strong, 
From east to west, this forest land 
With olden memories is rife. 
Each spot some tender thought enfolds, 
Or in its grasp some legend holds 
Of treachery or strife. 

In every moss-grown dell and glen 

That nestles in this land of Penn, 

The shadowy forms of other days 

Haunt winding streams and woodland ways, 

And dark recesses of the wood. 

Around the Warrior's Bloody Run, 

Where never penetrates the sun. 

They haunt Tioga's inland plains, 

That once owned "cruel Esther's" sway; 

They throng the time-stained rock where-on 

Her helpless captives suffering lay. 

They dwell amid the scattered pines 

And hemlocks that environ round 

Old Indian Orchard's burial ground; 

Hide in the dismal Dead Man's Swamp, 

The Shades of Death, so grim and damp, 

Lit by the fireflies' fitful lamp; 

Traverse the stretch of Wilderness, 

Beyond Pokono's mountains bare, 

12 



Where once all night in sore distress, 
And courage born of dread despair, 
The fugitives from Wyoming, 
Weary and worn, were wandering. 

The long low beach around Presque Isle, 
Whose sands the waves of Erie sweep, 
The wooded slopes of Laurel Ridge, 
Fair Silver Lake that lies asleep 
Upon the mountain side serene, 
A mirror set in rim of green; 
And all its sister lakes that smile 
Beneath the northern star-lit sky, 
Can each with tales of witchery 
Our passing hours beguile. 

No lovelier scene each noon-day sun. 
In its far round has looked upon. 
Than where Northumberland looks west 
Across the Suspuehanna's breast. 
And sees the misty mountains sweep. 
From east to west across the sky; 
The wooded slopes of Limestone Ridge, 
Of Montour and of Nittany. 

From eastward with impetous leap. 

From westward comes each rushing stream, 

And join their flood of swelling song 

In one swift chorus, deep and strong, 

That to the ocean rolls along. 

The charms of hill and dale combined. 

Must please the most asthetic mind. 

When wandering by our own loved stream. 

We watch the sunset's vivid gleam. 

Falling on hill and vale and wold. 

Changing the brown and green to gold. 



13 



From old South Mountain's forests green, 

To where the solitary peak 

Of Ararat is dimly seen, 

Out to Ohio's boundary line, 

Where'er 'tis Pennsylvania soil, 

Let all her loyal children say — 

"This land, this heritage is mine. 

Mine, its beauty and bright sunshine. 

Mine, the singing of birds and bees; 

The clapping of hands of forest trees; 

The hills that rejoice, and the glory that falls 

On lowly homes and castled walls." 

A charm rests over each glade and glen. 

For all who can see the smiling grace. 

That rests on Nature's lovely face. 

It matters not who the owners be, 

Of the rocks and ground beneath our feet. 

Its beauty, and light, and joy are free. 

Whene'er our fancies hover round 

In tearful thought, each peaceful mound, 

Within the consecrated ground 

Of Gettysburg, where heroes sleep; 

Where'er a patriot's grave is found. 

And tender hearts their memories keep; 

Whene'er we step with reverent tread 

Above each old historic bed, 

*Where two, — who traced with quickened pen. 

Their names to "equal rights" for men — 

Lie mouldering one on Prospect Hill, 

And one within the shadows still, 

Of God's green Acre in the town, 

('Tis there recorded on each stone. 

Above their consecrated dust.) 

May every bosom feel the glow 

That patriotic thoughts bestow; 

And higher prize the legacy, — 

14 



The love of home and liberty, 
Those hero dead have left in trust. 

Time passes by. Soon lost will be 
The olden tales and legendry; 
Unless some loving hand will strive 
To keep the drooping blooms alive: 
Will o'er the dying rootlets throw, 
Of other years, the life and glow; 
And lift each fallen flow'ret's head 
From its forgotten bed: 
And when each hidden plant is found, 
Entwine its clinging tendrils round 
The sure support of years to be. 
Perchance some leaf of memory 
May stop our hurrying steps awhile, 
That we may truer reverence pay 
To those brave hearts, whom Freedom led 
Along a rough and dangerous way — 
Leaving to us the sunshine bright 
That gleams around this later day. 
Theirs was the peril and the pain. 
Ours, the loveliness and gain. 



*Philip Livingston and James Smith, signers of the 
Declaration of Independence, are buried at York, Penn- 
sylvania. Philip Livingston, Delegate from New York, 
was taken sick and died while Congress was in session 
at York, and was buried in the old German Reformed 
graveyard. His remains were removed to Prospect Hill 
Cemetery. James Smith, Delegate from Pennsylvania, 
was a resident of York. He died in 1806, and he rests 
in the yard adjoining the First Presbyterian Church. 

The inscription on one side of Livingston's monument 
is as follows : 

Sacred 

to the memory of the Hon'ble 

Philip Livingston, 

who died June 12th, 1778, 

Aged 65 Years, 

15 



While attending the Congress 

of the United States at York 

Town, Penna., as a Delegate From 

the State of New York, 

Eminently distinguished for 

his talents & rectitude, he deservedly 

enjoyed the confidence of his 

Country & the love & veneration 

of his friends and children. 

This monument erected by 

his grandson, 
Stephen Van Rensselaer. 

Inscription on the West side: 

Philip Livingston 

one of the 

Signers of 

the Declaration 

OF 
Independence. 



i6 



THE COMING OF WILLIAM PENN 

The Lonely Pine. 1800. 

A solitary pine-tree stands 
Lonely against the western sky, 
Looking across the deep'ning wave 
Where Delaware rolls darkly by. 

Like some aged form, whose furrowed brow 

Is whitened by the passing years. 

It stands in silence and alone. 

Bleached by the driving tempests' tears. 

A few more years of wind and blast, 
Shall fell this relic of the past, 
And o'er the sandy river shore 
Its slender shadow wave no more. 

Could it but word the memories 

Sleeping its pointed leaves among, 

No more unfriended and unsung, 

Nor passed in scorn and silence by, 

A household word on every tongue, 

Its memory embalmed would lie. 

Far, far away, within the past, 

Across the century's ebbing tide, 

It stood, with kindred by its side. 

And saw the white-winged vessels come, 

Blown by swift gales to Delaware, 

From lands across the crested foam, 

Bringing a freightage rich and rare; 

The germ from which should spring the tree 

Of peace, and love, and liberty. 



17 



•'THE WELCOMEr Nov., 1682. 

Yon gallant ship! how fair she rides 
Upon the river's even wave. 
She springs to meet the green-clad shore, 
Whose sloping banks the waters lave. 

The strangers on her crowded decks 
With wondering eyes gaze on the scene; — 
The forests, gorgeous in their dress 
Of vivid scarlet, gold and green — 

Painted by autumn's lavish hand. 
The arching skies are blue and clear, 
And scarce a sound the silence stirs, 
Save rustle of some flying deer. 

Startled by stealthy footsteps near. 
Speeding where tangled willows grow; 
Or the shrill war-whoop, wild and strange, 
The signal of its savage foe. 

What ship is this that o'er the sea 
Brings gladness in its whitened wake? 
What pilgrims these, that friends and home 
And peaceful haunts of youth forsake? 

Across the sea j^on "Welcome" ship 
Brings proudly to his "Forest Land," 
The champion of peace and love, 
Attended by his friendly band. 

They left fair English hills behind. 
And seek the sunny groves that \\t 



18 



Along Coaquanock's bold, high banks, 
And Upland's sunny meadows nigh. 

To quaint Newcastle's peak-roofed town 
Where wait the colonists, they come; 
Where English, Welsh, and Germans meet 
With Swedes and Dutch, to welcome home 
Freedom's Apostle — ^William Penn; 
Whose forethought prompted him to found 
A Commonwealth for free-born men. 

His wise, prophetic mind beheld 

A future city, rising fair, 

A large and wide "greene countrie towne," 

Upon the banks of Delaware, 

From Wicacoa's trees of pine. 

Where dwelt the Swedish sons of Sven, 

Up to the Treaty Elm that stands 

In stateliness at Kensington. 

"A countrie towne, that 'fayre and greene' " 

Shall grow the pride of years to be; 

And speed its growing commerce wide. 

From shore to shore, from sea to sea. 

Upon Newcastle's shores they land. 
Historic forms, whose names shall last. 
While treasured with a reverent care. 
We keep our records of the past. 
Historic names, whose virtuous deeds 
A lustre o'er their children throw, 
Down thro' the years till time shall cease. 
From this bright day of love and peace 
What countless joys and blessings flow. 
From every nation, every clime, 
Their persecuted sons may fly; 
And in this land with grateful hearts. 
Enjoy the gifts of liberty. 

19 



But what dark faces do we see 
Standing apart within the shade 
Of yonder old, half-ruined fort, 
In savage costume, wild arrayed? 
The Lenni Lenape of the land 
Surround the form of Tamenend, 
That great and noble Indian chief, 
Ever the white man's steadfast friend. 
He saw Penn's great unselfish mind, 
Above the sordid things of time. 
And met him with a friendship true, 
That made his savage life sublime. 

When Shackamaxon saw the throng, 

That gathered round its famous tree. 

He stood conspicuous among 

His Indian warriors bold and free; 

A synonym for honor, truth, 

For many a year his name shall be. 

Tradition says he sought again 
His early haunts when old and worn; 
The scattered remnant of his tribe 
Wandered in other scenes forlorn. 
Near Doylestown, by a gushing stream. 
That wanders down a wild ravine. 
To meet the swift Neshameny, 
The traces of his grave were seen. 

Leaving Newcastle's sunlit town, 

Upon the river's rising tide, 

The Welcome sailed to Upland's shore. 

Where stood those pine trees side by side. 

Those pines no longer lift their heads 

Stately, toward the azure sky; — 

But one, of all its kin bereft, 



20 



Now sees broad Delaware rush by, 
And keeps the memory of that day 
Hid in its patient heart away. 
It saw the foot prints on the shore, 
It heard the joyous shouting flung 
Upon the fresh'ning evening breeze. 
In accents quaint of English tongue. 

Here in the old Assembly room, 

In earnest council, met they then. 

How distant seems that lowly house, 

Simple and bare, those earnest men. 

With rules of principle and right. 

From that which rules our country wide ; 

From some who have its halls disgraced 

By floating on corruption's tide. 

Seeking the gain of power and wealth. 

By sacrifice of honest self. 

Of such no future years shall say 

"They were our hope — the nation's stay," 

Of them no deed shall bring a tear 

Of love on history's pages clear; 

But Censure, with her sternest look, 

Shall blot their names from memory's book. 

1900. 

Two centuries have passed away, 
And more, since that historic day. 
The lonely pine no longer stands 
Upon the wave-washed, sandy shore. 
No wind can bow its ancient head; 
The storms beat on its brow no more. 
It lies among the buried dead. 
The ages hide within their breast. 
It saw the changes of long years. 
So peaceful be its quiet rest. 
21 



And yet there linger round the spot, 
The memories that lingered then — 
Of that autumnal day that brought 
The "Welcome" ship of William Penn. 

THE CAPTIVE'S RETURN 

"In 1764 Col. Boquet conquered the Indians. 
They delivered up the women and children whom 
they had carried into captivity. Among those who 
came to claim them was a woman who had lost a 
little daughter, but was unable to recognize her 
child, or converse with the captives. With break- 
ing heart she lamented to Col, Boquet, telling him 
how she used to sing a hymn, of which the child 
was very fond. She was requested to sing it, and 
the long lost daughter rushed into the mother's 
arms." 

Old History of Pennsylvania. 

Carlisle, how fair the mountains rise around thee! 
How fresh thy streams their waters roll along! 
How Nature smiles above, about, and for thee! — 
And yet there hover memories around thee. 
Or earlier years, of Indian ruth and wrong. 
They hide among the pines and waving hemlock. 
That crown thy hillsides with their steadfast green ; 
Beside thy streams and by thy trickling fountains, 
The shadow of their silent tread is seen. 
From far away those fading years that vanished. 
Still send their voices down Time's darkened aisle. 
And with their tales of suffering and enduring, 
Our twilight hours beguile. 

Beneath the arching skies of heaven, 
A weeping mother knelt and sang. 
With years, and tears, and sorrow laden, 
22 



The trembling accents faintly rang, — 
"Alone, yet not alone am I, 
I ieel my Saviour always nigh." — 
Before her, drooping captives stand; 
Behind her, grouped the Indian band. 
Constrained to bring the wearied train 
From rude wigwams and forest wild, 
That friends may claim their loved again. 

In fair Carlisle that summer day, 

Both hope and fear alternate sway 

The anxious heart and throbbing brain, 

Till scarce the mind survives the strain. 

The mourners' tears were turned to joy, 

When Fate gave back their girl, their boy; 

While mourners' tears should last alway 

If Fate brought back no friend that day. 

Oh, Fair Carlisle ; the bow of peace is bending, 

From out the cloud of dark and dreadful war; 

O'er homes wrecked by a cruel foe's invasion; 

O'er hearts, whose wounds show many a fiery scar. 

"Alone, yet not alone am I, — " 
The trembling accents faintly rang. 
A long lost child the mother sought, 
And thus the olden strain she sang. 
Striving to reach some fount of feeling, 
To memories of yore appealing. 
This was her baby's lullaby, — 
"Alone, yet not alone am I ;— " 
With tearful eye she gazes round, 
No glance responsive has she found; 
Perchance no child of hers is there. 
And sinks her heart in wild despair. 
The unfamiliar English sounds. 
To ears attuned to savage speech. 
No fount of recognition reach; 

23 



Yet love still urges o'er and o'er, 
And so with falt'ring tongue she tries 
The magic of her song once more. 

She sang by one sad thought enwrapt, — 

"Tho' in this solitude so drear, 

I feel my Saviour always near." — 

How often, pillowed on her breast, 

These words had soothed her child to rest; 

"Alone am I, — " before her eyes 

She sees her happy home arise; 

Her husband toiling thro' the day, 

Her little darling at her play; — 

"Tho' in this solitude so drear; — 

And memory brings again the fear, 

The pain, the doubts, the agony. 

Her home a wreck, her husband dead, 

Her little child a captive led, — 

"O Lord! alone, alone am I, — 

Dear Lord, oh, hear a mother's cry! 

Oh, come, my every hour to cheer! — 

Oh, God of Love!" how glad the cry — 

"My child, my darling child is here!" 

Around her neck soft arms were flung; 

Upon her breast a maiden hung: 

The long hushed song the captive heard; 

The fount of memory was stirred: 

"Alone, no more alone am I!" 

Rang out the mother's joyful cry. 

"I feel my Saviour always near; 

He comes my every hour to cheer." 



24 



The news from France 

May, 1778 

From out the dusky shadows 

Of the quiet spring-time night, 
The day was slowly stepping 

Into the sunlight bright, 
Of a fair and dewy morning. 

In the smiling month of May, 
When the nesting birds were singing 

Their early matin lay. 

Upon the quaint old steeple 

The glancing sunbeams shone; 
From off the distant hill-tops 

The morning mists had flown; 
And within the quiet valley 

The waking village lay, 
Beside the calm Codorus, 

Like child at rest from play. 

To southward, and to westward. 

The sloping hill-sides rise; 
And on the north fair Prospect Hill 

In solemn beauty lies. 
Toward the east the plain out-spreads 

In tints of varied green ; 
While groves of oak and sycamore 

Frame in the lovely scene. 
The creek, with many a graceful curve, 

Pursues its winding way, 
By banks with osier willow fringed. 

And rocks with lichen gray. 

As fair that sweet May morning smiled 

In olden days as now. 
The loveliness of Nature's charms 
25 



The sad and weary heart beguiled, 
Full six score years ago; 

When bright the morning sunlight shone 
Upon the growing infant town, 

Waking the busy world to life, 
And anxious souls to thoughts of strife. 
For war had brought its pain and wo, 

Its burden and its care. 
And lurking dread dwelt in those homes, 

On that May morning fair. 

Methinks I see again the days 

When our fair town was young; 
When here upon the sunny slopes 

Its lowly homes upsprung; 
When on the startled forest air 

The woodman's strokes resound. 
And fields of wheat and golden corn 

Adorned the virgin ground. 

How few the land-marks of the past ! 

Amid the gathering haze 
That veil the years is vanishing 

The memory of those days. 
The olden buildings, one by one. 

Have fallen in decay; 
The hearts that reared those hearths and homes, 

Have long since passed away. 

The upward smoke was curling high, 

O'er tree, and church and tower; 
The honest burghers at their doors 

Await the breakfast hour ; 
With wooden bucket to the pump 

The village maiden goes, 
In linsey-woolsy skirt and gown. 

And cheeks red as the rose. 
26 



At southeast corner of the Square, 

Upp's tavern opened wide 
Its low-ceiled rooms, and oaken doors, 

With benches by their side, 
Where, when the evening brought its rest, 

And twilight settled down, 
With pipe and talk the hours passed. 

And peace reigned o'er the town. 

At every inn, when morning dawned, 

Pitt wagons stood in line. 
With teams of horses, six or eight. 

Their bells and trappings fine; 
A tent-like covering o'er each wain, 

Within a weighty load, 
That made the heavy wheels resound 

Along the stony road. 

Where Delaware's swift waters 

Rush downward with the tide, 
Where Penn's fair Quaker city 

Sat nestling by its side, 
Great Britain's troops were quartered; 

The patriot army lay 
At Valley Forge, all winter long, 

In want and misery. 

First, Congress went to Lancaster, 

Next to our ancient town; 
And all the dreary season. 

Their fears had darker grown: 
The British force increasing; 

Our soldiers sick and worn ; 
And liberty seemed doomed to be 

Of all its blessings shorn. 



27 



The Court-house bell that mom in May, 

Rang a triumphant strain. 
Its chiming sounded loud and shrill, 
Upon the breeze, from hill to hill. 

And echoed o'er the plain. 

Soon, crowding up the State house steps, 

Came men in quaint array. 
With eager tread and wondering eyes, 
To learn what meant this new surprise, 

So early in the day. 

Young men and maidens gathered round. 
To see what meant the unwonted sound; 

The children left their play. 
The loungers at the tavern door. 
To hear if aught about the war. 

Crowded across the way. 

A murmur rippling thro' the throng. 
Broke forth in accents loud and long. 

With many a wild acclaim. 
Ring out, glad hearts, across the sea, 
Comes help for Right and Liberty — 

Fair France's oriflamme! 

Ring out, glad bells ! Thy welcome voice 

Adown the aisles of time shall ring, 
When future years o'er patriots' graves 

The flowers of reverence shall fling. 
The echoes thou dost waken now 

Shall vibrate to earth's latest morn ; 
And with their freedom giving throbs 

Enfranchise souls as yet unborn. 



28 



Ring out, glad bell ! All winter long, 

The days were dark with gloom and doubt. 
Amid the spring's reviving hopes 

Let thy glad peal rouse Freedom's shout. 
Whenever o'er York's peaceful streets 

Thy voice is heard in years to come, 
May memories of the news from France 

Linger in each familiar tone. 

Fair France, thou wast the first to see 

And recognize our infant power; 
To aid, with heartfelt sympathy. 

The wavering fortunes of the hour. 
Aloft in Freedom's sacred fane. 

Among her priceless victories won. 
Entwined in light, shine out the names 

Of Lafayette and Washington. 



29 



BURNING OF HANNASTOWN, WEST- 
MORELAND CO., PENNA. 

1. "The first opening through the wilderness of West- 
moreland Co., was cut by Gen. Forbes army in 1758. 
He was in command of the forces from Pennsylvania, 
Maryland and Virginia, sent to expel the French from 
the valley of the Ohio. Washington was in command 
of a regiment of Virginia troops, with the rank of Col- 
onel. When they reached Fort Duquesne in November, 
the French had abandoned the fort and fled down the 
river." — Old History of Penna. 

2. Hannastown was attacked and burned by a party of 
300 Indians and 60 white refugees, July 13th, 1782. 
Their prisoners were surrendered by the Indians to the 
British in Canada. 

3. The incidents in the poem are from an account 
published in the Greensburg Argus, Westmoreland Co., 
in 1836. 

Prologue. 

The tide goes out on the restless sea; 

And the ceaseless waves of Eternity 

Bear the white-winged vessels of Time away, 

To the dusky shores of the ages gray. 

The freightage they bear are smiles and tears; 

Joys that have throbbed thro' thousands of years; 

The beautiful flowers 

That bloomed in Love's bowers; 

And smiles that have sparkled thro' tears. 

Oh, countless the ships that sail out with the tide; 

We ever are watching the lessening sails 

Of loved ones that died. 

The incoming years may bring blessings as fair ; 

But we look with a longing regret. 

To the friends we have known, 

And the years that have flown; 

And cherish their memory yet. 



30 



The dew-drops sparkled in the sun, 
Like priceless gems that summer mom; 
In light and shadow gleamed the grain, 
And waved the fields of growing corn; 
Its long green leaves and tassels bright. 
Shone in the undulating light, 
As floating oe'r the morning sky, 
The fleecy, curling clouds passed by. 
Upon the hill-sides grew the brake; 
Within the vale the orchis dwelt; 
By every brook-side's mossy brink 
The yellow water lily knelt. 
From out the grass the insect chime 
Rippled across the summer-time; 
And from the shade the harvest fly 
Buzzed loud and shrill, unweariedly. 
The wild bird sang its matin song; 
The streamlet danced across the lea; 
Among the pines the gentle breeze 
Rustled its sweetest melody; 
The pines that rose on Chestnut Ridge, 
Like some vast army, grim and grand, 
Whose firm and serried forces stand, 
Holding the gates to Westmoreland. 

Between the Ridge and yonder range. 
Lonely, Ligonier Valley lies; 
A narrow and secluded vale, 
Within whose depths the shadows dun 
Grow black, as westward sinks the sun. 
Beyond the frowning mountain height. 
On whose high brow with laurel crowned, 
The silent ages sit enthroned ; 
Upon whose steep and wooded side, 
The earliest beams of morn alight; — 



31 



Beyond this rocky barrier, 

Westmoreland's fair and sunny plains 

Unroll their varied scenery, 

From Conemaugh's swift-rushing stream, 

To swelling Youghiogeny. 

Westward the wondering eye beholds 

Fair pictures Nature's hand unfolds, 

Each meadow, vale and wood-crowned height 

Bathed in the glow of dawning light. 

Or crimsoned by the setting sun. 

When day is done. 

Those bye-gone years no hearth-built smoke 

Curled upward to the morning sky; 

No settler's clearing in the wild. 

Gladdened the weary woodman's eye. 

Shy Nature hid in forest shades. 

Dwelling in dim secluded glades; 

And 'mid the silence of the wood, — 

Silence that thrills the listening heart, — 

Like half-familiar music-tones, 

To us from heaven sent, — 

Her whispering voice grew eloquent. 

Perchance upon the solitude. 
Some Indian's stealthy step alone 
Faint echo woke, and then was gone. 
The wild beast sought the woodland stream, 
From which shone back his stealthy gleam; 
And from the blue, o'er-arching sky 
Came down the eagle's screaming cry, 
Startling the deer upon the brink. 
Bending his stately head to drink. 

Far down among the buried years, 

A record dim and brief appears. 

The white man's foot, the white man's hand, 



32 



Had left his impress on the land. 
The French assumed complete command, 
With Indian warriors fierce allied, 
And claimed dominion far and wide. 
Where'er Ohio's current strong 
To Southern waters rolled along; 
Or where the rivers northward go 
To swell the great lakes' deeper flow. 
^So thro' Westmoreland's wilderness. 
Came General Forbes to hew a way; 
Came Washington with youthful fire, 
And British troops in bright array. 
The woods woke up with armed men 
In mountain pass and glade and glen ; 
And echoing for miles around 
The notes of busy life resound. 
Behind the trees with hostile aim 
The savage Indian lurking came; 
And many a fierce and bloody fight 
Was fought on many a starlit night, 
Before the road was done; 
Before the troops that led the way 
Where'er the perils thickest lay, 
Led on by Washington, 
Came to Duquesne one Autumn day. 
And saw its rough-hewn walls so gray 
Glow in the setting sun. 
Amid the changes of the years, 
In after days brave pioneers 
Shall tread this earlier way; 
Seeking a home, where fair and bright, 
Westmoreland plains lie bathed in light, 
Beneath the noontide ray. 
The woodman's axe shall echo wake, 
The woodman's log-built cabin rise; 
The fields, with yellow glory crowned. 



33 



Rejoice his glad, expectant eyes. 
Fair towns shall gem the river bank, 
And well-tilled farms embowered lie, 
When o'er this highway to the West 
The tides of life flash quickly by. 
The forests fall, and villages 
Lie scattered o'er the fertile soil; 
On every hill the beacon fires 
Of future glory shine like stars, 
Casting a bright prophetic gleam 
Over every mountain range and stream. 

Brave pioneers in freedom's van, 
The world ne'er sees their like again. 
Cheerful, life's comforts left behind. 
They toiled with well-contented mind — 
Yet ever with tried weapons nigh, 
And for the foe a watchful eye, — 
While wresting from the yielding soil. 
The due reward of honest toil. 
Heroic hearts of humble birth, — 
Although unmarked their ashes lie — 
They were the knights of those rude days. 
The champions of liberty. 

^Where now the town of Greensburg lies, 
A few miles north stood Hannastown; 
With houses, court-house, jail and fort, 
A place of some importance grown. 
How fair the plains that round it shone, 
That smiling morn in warm July; 
How thrilling were the stirring scenes 
Enacted as the hours passed by. 
Scenes which forgotten history brings 
To us in faint, low whisperings; 
Needing the aid of Fancy bright. 
To clothe again with life and light. 

34 



There Justice held her annual court; 
There young, aspiring lawyers came, 
And from that backwood's bar rose up 
Higher upon the roll of Fame. 
There open hearted spirits came 
From Red Stone, George's Creek, and all 
The clearings to the mountain side; 
In joyous converse, frank and free, 
Held seasons of hilarity; 
Made evil-doers fear to stray 
Down the transgressor's dreary way; 
Swift sentence dealt in every cause, 
And strict construed their frontier laws. 

Where once stern Justice held her scales, 
No home, nor hall, nor fort remains; 
The plow-share turns the ready mold, 
And o'er the harvest plenty reigns. 
Now Nature's gay and smiling face 
No trace of olden life retains. 
That harvest month of long ago 
Was full of pain, and dark with woe. 
Tho' blue the summer skies o'er head, 
Tho' rich the guerdon round them spread, 
The heavens shone at night with fire. 
That made some home a funeral-pyre. 
Along the west horizon spread 
Dark clouds of mourning for the dead, 
Fields were watered with human blood. 
And ruined homes deserted stood; 
Waited uncut, the ripened grain. 
The reapers lay among the slain. 
'Mid scenes that stoutest hearts appall, 
Red warriors held high carnival. 

The settlers left the far frontier. 
The settlements were thrilled with fear. 

35 



Where e'er a fort its walls up-reared 
A throng of fugitives appeared. 
As yet around fair Hannastown, 
The days in peacef ulness had flown ; 
Altho' each day they surely knew 
The wary foe was drawing nigh ; 
Each night the red glare fiercer grew, 
And nearer, on the dusky sky. 

At Miller's Station, mid their fears 

Love laughed at doubts and mocked at tears ; 

And so was held that summer day 

A wedding in the olden way. 

And to O'Conner's fields that morn. 

The reapers went to cut the grain. 

For men must work and women weep ; 

Bravely bearing the weight of pain 

And sorrow war brings in its train. 

Ere half the bending stalks lay low 

There came the startling cry, "The foe!" 

Where yonder stretch of forest stood, 

Some keen, observant woodman's eye 

Saw dusky phantoms flitting by. 

One moment only, — naught was heard 

Save whistling of some lonely bird, 

And droning hum of sounds that play 

In rhythm round a summer day; 

The rustling leaf, the insect chime. 

Thrilling the heart of summer-time 

The reapers knew the danger near, — 
A sword suspended in the air ; 
Whose fall should break the seeming calm 
That lingered round each humble home: 



36 



A calm like that of ocean wave 
Above a deep and silent grave. 

Homeward ! with pulses throbbing high ! 
Homeward ! the deadly storm is nigh ! 
Gather your loved ones ere it break 
Like tempest o'er some tranquil lake! 
Gather them quickly, young and old, 
Within the fort's safe, sheltering fold ! 
The storm will break — destruction stand 
Triumphant o'er the trembling land. 

An hour passed by — in silence still 
The sunshine slumbered on the hill : 
An anxious hour — no distant sound 
Told of the toils around them wound. 
So Captain Jack with caution rode 
To reconnoitre by the wood. 
Four youths, with foot alert and free, 
Followed the narrow, shelving way. 
That through the lowlands nearer led, 
Along the Crab-tree's shrunken bed. 

O'Conner's fields were soon in view, 
Alas, the reapers' tale was true! 
Behold the Indians' gathering force ! 
Behold the Captain's flying horse! 
With fierce pursuers on their track 
The four scouts turn their pathway back. 
For on the redskins as they run 
They saw the gleaming of the sun ; 
They hear the panting foot-fall sound 
Nearer, upon the rocky ground : 
Like leaves before the tempest driven, 
Thro' the ravine they rushing fly. 
The hill is gained, the fort is nigh. 



37 



But now about the silent town 
Gather the foe — the prey has flown. 
The wild war-whoop, the savage shout, 
Exasperated, loud, ring out, 
The mad, demoniac yellings thrill 
The fugitives with trembling chill ; 
And anxious minds and loving hearts 
With dark forebodings fill. 

Within the fort's protecting gate, 

The little garrison await 

The coming of the night: 

They see the fiery blaze leap high, 

Their hearts are mute with agony, 

Despairing, at the sight. 

The dark, up-leaping, paint-streaked foe, 

Yelling with wildly waving arms, 

Look like lost souls from lower spheres, 

Triumphing o'er pale mortals' fears: 

Demons — rejoicing in the pall 

That o'er the lives of mortals fall. 

The flying arrows thick and fast 
Strike on the fort's stockaded walls; 
O'er blackened hearths and ruined homes 
Without, the summer sunshine falls; 
Within — the rain of bitter tears. 
O'er broken hopes — and gloomy fears. 

Inside the fort the children play; 
Fearing no foe, no care have they. 
Too young to dread the perils nigh ; 
Too young to heed when elders sigh; — 
Oh happy blissful infancy! 
The butterfly of pleasure flies 
Ever before their longing eyes; 



38 



Hope's rainbow lures them ever on 
To find its shadow further flown; 
Brief smiles and tears succeed each other, 
The clouds and shine of April weather. 
Like plants they love the sun and dew, 
And thrive beneath the shower too. 
The sturdy oak that cannot bend 
Lies low within its native vale; 
The slender sapling bows its head 
Unharmed by the passing gale. 
The blessed faith of childhood hours — 
A fragment left of Eden's bowers — 
Blooms still upon this earth of ours. 
A little, laughing, toddling boy. 
Whose soft and curling flaxen hair 
Was tinged with golden warmth and light, 
Two summers had imprinted there, — 
Unmindful of the wild commotion 
That surged from burning town to fort. 
Like waves of some up-heaving ocean 
Against some lonely island thrown, — 
Ran round the yard with merry shout. 
Death claims the loveliest and best. 
Careless the little golden head 
Around the open court-yard sped. 
Oft-times a feathered arrow through 
The loop-holes left for muskets flew. 
And Jennie Shaw, in wild alarm, 
Ran out to save the child from harm — 
She fell — an arrow in her breast. 

Sweet Jennie Shaw, thine image floats 

Ever before my mental gaze. 

In odd, quaint garb and modest grace. 

The wild-flower of those early days. 

A fair, half hidden violet 

Upon the western country-side; 

39 



Blooming in sweet humility : 

Of old Westmoreland hearts the pride. 

Dear Jeannie Shaw, thy father brave 
No more shall meet thy sunny smile. 
When he from Lochry's sad campaign 
Returns again, thy soft caress 
No more shall his tired heart beguile. 
No more thy footsteps lightly brush 
The dew from off the op'ning flowers, 
No more thy merry accents thrill 
With melody the evening hours. 
The kindly impulse of thy heart, 
That brought thee to an early death. 
Embalmed thy life and loveliness. 
In fragrance like the roses' breath. 
Still hovering round thy native plains. 
Thy tender memory remains. 

Fair Jeannie Shaw ! the night closed in 

And found thy mother sorrowing. 

But oh, the soft angelic grace 

Of that sweet smile on thy dead face. 

Brought tears to eyes unused to weeping. 

Westmoreland's flower in death lay sleeping. 

When rose the fiery clouds to heaven. 
By some concerted signal given. 
Over two hundred of the foe 
Started to deal another blow. 
Southward, two miles the village lay 
Where love and mirth held holiday. 
That morn, a gallant gathering 
Had met before the bride-groom's door. 
In motley garb and style arrayed, 
Each horse a double burden bore. 
They rode along with jest and song, 
40 



For several miles the forest way; 
And oft across the grass-grown path 
Some mischievious obstruction lay; 
And then the shout and laugh rang out, 
Echoing back with merry din; 
And swift ahead the runners sped, 
Hoping the wedding prize to win. 
Whoever reached the bride's home first. 
His prize, (a bottle,) quenched his thirst. 
A wedding day was wont to be 
A season of hilarity. 
Their out-door cares were thrown aside; 
Their friendly doors were opened wide. 
And fun triumphant for the day 
Held noisy, undisputed sway. 
Wealth took no state upon himself; 
Rank had no claim above the rest ; 
The truest heart, and coolest head, 
And strongest arm, were counted best. 

The bridegroom's escort urged to speed 
Each doubly-burdened, panting steed; 
The morning hours flew on apace. 
And waiting was the parson's grace. 
The boards were groaning with good cheer. 
And guests were gathering far and near; 
For thus the olden legend ran, — 
"The wedded life the morning sun 
Shines first upon is well begun." 

Before the fiery sun climbed high 
Toward mid-day in the glowing sky, 
The knot was tied, the blessing said, 
Till noon, the hungry guests were fed. 
The merry music, round and round, 
Thrilled head and foot with swaying sound- 
When like a flash across the sky, 

41 



The thunderbolts of war passed by. 
No fiercer storm e'er swept the sea 
Than broke, Westmoreland, over thee! 

Within the bridal mansion 
Jack Brownlee grasped his child, 
But heard the child's dear mother 
Call him in accents wild; 
And thus detained by love's sweet voice, 
He made his calm, deliberate choice — 
Silent, unflinching to await 
The torture or the captive's fate. 

Jack Brownlee was the highest type 

Of those brave souls, the pioneers. 

One of those strong, impetuous souls, 

Not rare upon the west frontiers. 

Hand quick to strike, heart quick to feel 

The sadness of another's grief, 

The sunlight of another's smile; 

And always ready to beguile 

The passing hours with jests the while. 

The Indians knew his sinev^^ form. 

Had felt the blows of his strong arm; 

Feared his quick rifle, for they knew 

How sure his aim, 

How steady and how true. 

Altho' the forest monarch bound may be, 

Yet still retain his kingly majesty. 

So Brownlee's eye, undaunted, brightly shone, 

And made their spirits quail before his own. 

The bridegroom and the bonny bride 
Dreamed not that morn, that sundered wide 
For ten long years, their paths would be, 
Ere fate and peace should set them free. 



42 



Destined in Canada's cold clime 
To pass the long, unhappy days, 
Till longing hearts and tear-filled eyes 
Should greet again familiar ways. 

A lovely maiden, Marian H- 



Among the bridal party shone. 

Her mother and her sister too, 

Had come that morn from Hannastown. 

They too by fate were northward borne, 

From home and kindred cruelly torn. 

Oh! who can paint the agony 

Each loving heart must have endured; 

Exhaustion, hunger, misery, 

Of life and safety unassured ; 

The dreary days, the weary nights; 

The torture, and the dreadful sights; 

The burial of dead hopes in years 

Of wasted love and blighting tears. 

Amidst the panic-stricken throng, 
A youthful hunter quickly caught 
A little child, forsaken, lost, 
And for a place of safety sought. 
He fled the house, and panting ran 
To where a copse concealed from view. 
And tho' pursued, hid in a field 
Of growing corn, so thick and high, 
Until the gathering shades of night 
Assisted them to further flight. 
The little one was Brownlee's child. 
Poor orphan! God watched over thee! 
Thy father murdered ere the night; 
The babe he carried cruelly slain; 
Thy mother bore in speechless pain. 
Sorrowing for thee too in vain, 



43 



The crushing weight of agony, 

That streaked her dark brown hair with white, 

And brought her to an early grave, 

Beside St. Lawrence distant wave. 

One little incident occurred, 
That often as the tale I heard. 
Excites my wonder and surprise, 
Till tears overflow my ready eyes. 
Down at the foot of that steep hill, 
That upward led to George's farm, 
A son, his aged mother, led, 
His baby boy upon his arm. 

They toiled the rough and steep hill-road, 

Within the shadow of the wood; 

Her heart and steps were weak with fear 

Of cruel foemen ever near; 

The father left his little child. 

That in his face so loving smiled. 

Beneath the trees, and hastily, 

Heart heavy with its misery. 

Gave his strong arms' support and care, 

His aged mother's weight to bear. 

How dare ye say he did not right? 
How know ye if it might not be 
A sacrifice, in Heaven's sight. 
To filial love and piety? 

At dawn of day the father came 
Back to his desolated home. 
Its walls were all untouched by flame, 
It stood so humble and alone. 



44 



Sorrowing, he sought along the wood — 
No trace of child nor foe was there — 
But when within his home he stood, 
Entranced before the sight so fair, 
His little child with curly head 
Asleep upon its little bed, 
Raised from affliction's depth he cried, 
"I thought the child had surely died. 
Saved by Protecting Power above, 
Father, I thank Thee for Thy love!" 
Then snatching up his sleeping child, 
Kissed, till he oped his eyes and smiled. 

Do guardian angels vigil keep 
O'er children, when they wake or sleep? 
Did his dead mother, left in ward 
Around her boy, keep loving guard? 
Ah ! we shall know, when Time shall be 
The first page of Eternity. 

When from O'Conner's field in haste, 
His pathway Capt. Jack retraced, 
Aside he turned, and took a route 
To evade the foe, by Brownlee's wood. 
Spreading the tidings as he rode. 
Where'er a lonely cabin stood. 
He gave assistance in their need. 
Carried the helpless on his steed. 
And led them on to George's farm. 
Where they might be secure from harm ; 
A strong stone house, which oft before 
A refuge proved in time of war. 

And then intent on thoughts of care. 
Not knowing that the foe was there. 
Toward Millerstown, the dusty way. 
O'er hill and dale before him lay. 

45 



A dense black smoke was hovering, 

Like some huge bird with out-stretched wing, 

Above the blackened fields of grain. 

Above the once familiar spot. 

Where naught but ruined homes remain. 

It changed the smiling sky to gray. 

Thro' which the sullen sun looked down 

With reddened eye, — how changed since morn. 

And saw the plains of Hannastown, 

Of strength and life and beauty shorn. 

Jack knew destruction's hand was red, 

And swifter o'er the road he sped 

His friends and relatives to warn. 

Dismayed, the captives see him come ; 

Appalled, they watch his headlong course; 

When lo ! He looks ! he sees the foe ! 

And backward turns his horse. 

Pursued ! Thick clouds of dust arise 

And hide him from their anxious eyes. 

Baffled ! the wild pursuers turn 

Back from the chase. They kill ! They burn ! 

The helpless prisoners, sick at heart, 

From home and happiness depart. 

If strength shall fail, a cruel blow 

Of tomahawk will lay them low; 

If children cry, their life shall be 

Dashed out against some forest tree. 

And mourning hearts their grief must bear 

Speechless, in shuddering despair. 

The sun, low in the western sky. 
Shot pointed barbs of golden light, 
Wliere waved above the sunset clouds. 
The evening's crimson banners bright. 
The evening shadows misty rose, 
The tinted clouds in darkness died, 

46 



The sighing of the forest trees 

Came trembling from the green hillside. 

Within the fort in fear and dread, 

With sinking hearts they watched the sun. 

They feared that ere the light was dead, 

The Indians' victory'd be won, 

And life's short race be run. 

With failing heart they count anew 

But twenty rifles good and true. 

Ah! husbands, brothers, far away. 

Could ye but know the woeful strait. 

In which your loved lie desolate. 

How would ye strive against your fate. 

And seek on homeward wings to fly. 

But ye may fall on battlefield. 

Lonely, unfriended, there to die, 

And these loved ones may vigils keep 

For those who in Death's slumber sleep. 

The twilight deepened, till the sight 

Could not distinguish waving shade 

From foliage, where dark phantoms strayed; 

Tell which was false, and which was true, 

And darker still the shadows grew. 

And phantom forms along the road 

Seemed flitting where the moonbeams glowed ; 

Or o'er the blackened depths that lay. 

Beside the rough and rocky way. 

These phantom forms, that gathered round 

With stealthy step o'er silent ground. 

Proved two-score men from George's farm, 

Gaining the fort without alarm. 

Welcoming gates were opened wide, 

A hasty council held inside. 

And soon the roll of martial drum 

Proclaimed glad tidings — help had come. 

47 



Along the Crab-tree's shrunken stream 
Shone redly forth the camp-fire's gleam; 
Where helpless on the hard, bare ground, 
The captives lay securely bound. 
And saw the wild carousing 'round. 
Sleep brought no balm that wretched night, 
Nor pressed her finger soft and light. 
Upon the blood-shot eye and brain. 
That ever starting with affright, 
Saw all those scenes throng back again, 
And stalk across the blood-stained plain. 
Draped in their red and horrid guise. 
Thro' long, long years those memories. 
In brighter hours, shall cruelly rise, 
And quench the light in laughing eyes. 

Floating distinctly down the glen. 
They hear the waves of echoing sound 
Reverberate the hills around. 
Across the bridge the tread of men, 
(Returning back and back again,) 
Of horsemen's steady falling tramp — 
(Dismay falls on the Indian camp,) 
Comes to their ears with startling power 
Across the unquiet midnight hour; 
And tell that hope and help have come. 
Tho' hope and help seem now so near 
Yet none the captives' hearts may cheer. 

The early hours were jubilant 

With music tones flung to the breeze; 

The busy din of warlike life 

Rushed wildly 'mong the forest trees. 

Fearing its power, the redskins fied, 

Their suffering captives northward led. 

And when the dawning grew to day 

48 



Were miles upon their flying way; 
And that small band of men — two score, 
Were free to seek their homes once more. 

Another morn ! In one short day 

How much of sad experience lay. 

Upon each blackened field and plain 

No need of reapers for the grain. 

No happy homes, no sunny flowers, 

No more of Summer's restful hours. 

The unburied dead they sought and found. 

You still may see in Mechlin's lot, — 

(Which e'er should be a hallowed spot) 

When flowers deck each soldier's mound, 

Their sad and lonely burial ground. 

So drear and dreadful was the scene; 

Destruction's hand so strong had been. 

They left their homes in ruins lie. 

But where they lived, or where they died, 

Belongs to olden history. 

No home, no hall, no fort remains 

To tell the tale of ancient days. 

Sometimes outlines of shadowy forms 

Seem flitting thro' the woodland ways, 

Where slumber olden memories. 

Sometimes, when mid-night hours are still, 

And darkness hides each distant hill, 

Come wild, wierd sounds upon the breeze, 

Moaning among the willow trees, 

Shrieking adown the dark ravine, 

Where still they say strange sights are seen; 

And flashes red light up the sky. 

But all is veiled in mystery. 



49 



And yet one star shines soft and bright, 

Across the lonely winter night, 

That shrouds the captives from our sight, 

In far off Montreal. 

Fair Marian, with her lovely face. 

Her unadorned and simple grace. 

And slender figure tall, 

Is given into tiie tender care 

Of English courtesy. 

Touched by her suffering and her woes, 

Pity, her mantle round her throws, 

And Love bends low the knee. 

Won by her gentle modesty, 

An officer of high degree, 

Loved, wooed and wed the maiden fair: 

Loving, beloved, a happy wife. 

She walked her sunny path of life ; 

And sent her memory down the years. 

Smiling, from out a mist of tears. 



50 



BALD EAGLE'S NEST 

Centre Co., Penn. 

High in the clefts of the olden rocks, 

The fearless bird of the upper air 

Shrieks his wild shout to the elements, 

And rears his home and his kingdom there. 

Or where the distant mountain's brow 

Towers aloft in its mighty pride, 

O'er the vales below, and the trees that bow 

To the gale that sweeps its rugged side — 

With vision keen in the sun's bright gleam. 

He scans the plain, the stream, the wood; 

And far above the realm of man. 

He builds his nest and tends his brood. 

Oh, valiant bird ! with eye undimmed 
By rays that dull and blind our own; 
With power to breast the wind and storm. 
And stand undaunted and alone 
Above the lower walks of life. 
Amid the elements' wild war — 
And upward soar, on untired wing, 
Toward some purer, brighter star. 
That seems to beckon from afar, — 
Defiant bird! thy home must be 
The high birthplace of liberty. 

Where Alleghany's mountains rise, 
Outlined along the western sky. 
Among their hidden sylvan shades 
The copious springs in fulness lie. 
Each brooklet from its shadowed source 
Gurgles along its downward course 
Across the sand and shale. 



51 



And wid'ning, deep'ning as they go, 

Mingling together in their flow, 

Leap down the narrow vale. 

While eastward, other mountains rise, 

Stretching a long, unbroken line, 

From south to north, with groves of pine, 

Hemlock and locust covering 

Their lofty battlements with green. 

Where Milesburg nestles in the vale. 

Where Spring Creek's crystal streams well up, 

And bubbling from the limestone cliffs. 

May well the name "Belle Fountain" bear, 

So pure and clear their waters are, — 

In olden days, when Indian braves 

Dwelt where the wild cat had its lair; 

When Senecas and Delawares 

Laid claim to all the region fair, — 

Upon the highest mountain peak, 

Two ancient oaks their branches flung 

Like banners to the waving breeze; 

And on their tops the morning hung 

Its penciled harbingers of light. 

From this high rampart, far and wide 

The eye could view the lovely scene; 

Could trace the shining course of streams 

Where'er their waters caught the light. 

Along their banks the willows green 

Upturned their leaves with silvery sheen. 

About them hung at early dawn 

The misty breathing of the night. 

And in the heart the vision bright 

Awakened ever-new delight. 

Like his fierce sponsor of the air, 
Bald Eagle built his eyrie there. 
Beneath the spreading oaken shade, 

52 



In infancy his papoose played 

Around the mountain's rocky crest. 

From hence his glancing eye so keen 

Could see the red deer speeding by; 

Could watch the summer sunlight shine 

Along the horizon's distant line. 

His ear could catch the human cry 

Of the wild panther's wail. 

With spirit proud as that fierce bird, 

Whose scream high from the clouds is heard 

Above the rising gale; — 

So rang his war-whoop o'er the wild. 

Bald Eagle's nest, above the plain — 

A fitting home for Nature's child, — 

Gave name to all the mountain chain. 

From this high perch his roving eye 

Could trace the winding course of streams. 

Could see with power deep and strong, 

His own swift streamlet rush along, 

To meet, emerging from the chain 

Of mountains westward, to the plain, 

Another stream, whose swifter foot 

Springs onward to the distant sea, 

O'er fair and fertile bottom lands. 

Where now Lock Haven smiling stands, 

Bald Eagle joins the swelling tide 

Of Susquehanna's ceaseless flow; 

And White Deer down the mountain-side, 

And Pine Creek, meet them as they go 

By Nippenose and Nittany. 

The mountain range, the stream, the vale. 

Bald Eagle's name alone recall. 

The olden days are gone. No more 

The pioneer recites the tale 

Of those wild days, when orphan's wail 

And widow's weeping thrilled the heart. 

53 



When from his eyrie swooped the bird 

Of prey, and his wild shriek was heard, 

Ringing the woods and meadows o'er, 

And echoing from shore to shore. 

High in the mountain-top no more 

He lifts his haughty head. 

In some forgotten grave he lies 

Among the unnumbered dead. 

His days are o'er, his warlike deeds 

Forgotten in the past; 

But in his own wild solitudes 

Bald Eagle's name shall last. 



54 



THE RUNAWAY 

A Legend of Lackawanna^ Penna. 

Among the Moosic mountains 

A little stream is born, 
And down the mossy hillside 

Its shallow course has torn. 
It flows around the hillock, 

It winds the meadows thro', 
'Mid grassy sedge and willow. 

By pine and hemlock too. 

It ripples down the valley 

Through brush and laurel tall, 
And in the Lackawanna 

Its dancing waters fall. 
One morn, when bears and panthers. 

And wolves roved fierce and wild, 
Beside this mountain streamlet, 

Wandered a little child. 

'Twas ere a town or city 

Embraced the mountain side. 
Thick forests, vast and gloomy. 

Darkened the country wide, 
A settler, with his household 

From New England vales had come; 
Beside this rippling streamlet 

He built his lowly home. 

This little child, the youngest. 

The darling pet and pride, 
Had wandered far that morning 

From the tired mother's side; 
Who thought her with the father, 



55 



Out in the fields away, 
And neither missed nor sought her, 
Till middle of the day. 

The search was long and weary; 

The night was long and drear; 
The woods were dark and lonely, 

With many a peril near. 
How could a tender infant. 

Have strength afar to stray, 
When stealthy beasts were lurking, 

In every woodland way? 

The months and years were counted 

Among the things that died. 
And many homes were growing 

On Lackawanna's side. 
And down, far down the valley. 

Where the river leaps along 
Into the Susquehanna, 

With its mountain current strong- 
Was a fair and growing village. 

And hither came one day, 
The eldest of the brothers 

Of the child that strayed away. 

It is no lengthy journey 

For trav'lers of to-day. 
But one and twenty mile stones 

Now mark the traveled way. 
But then the path was lonely, 

The roads were roughly made. 
And dangers still lay hidden 

Within the forest shade. 



56 



Dwelling among the people, 

Sharing their hopes and fears, 
This brother heard a story 

Recalled the missing years, — 
About a fair, young maiden 

To all Wyoming dear. 
The simple tale was thrilling 

The eager list'ner's ear. 

Back in the years it started, — 

One sunny summer morn. 
With clothing torn by briars. 

All hungry and forlorn, 
A little child came tott'ring 

Along the grassy way, 
That led adown the river's bank, 

Where cows were wont to stray. 

She said her name was Mary ; 

She lived she knew not where ; 
And so the forest maiden 

Grew with the years more fair. 
The child that strayed was Mary, 

The brother told with tears, 
So near to home and yet so far, 

Thro' all the weary years. 

Oh, think the joy and gladness 

That thrilled those hearts, the day 
That Mary came to that glad home, 

On little Runaway. 
The Runaway, the rippling stream. 

Among old Moosic's Mountains gray. 
So named from this olden tale, 

"The Runaway." 



57 



VIOLET HILL 

york, Penna. 

Fair Violet Hill! 
I mind me still 

Of days gone by, when I was young ; 
When joyous hearts and laughing lips 

Thy praises ever sung. 

In morning hours 
Thy pale blue flowers, 

The first of Nature's offering. 
Would shyly glance with dewy eye, 

Their beauty proffering. 

Beneath the shade 
The oak-trees made. 

We sought the pink arbutus flower, 
And by thy little, rippling brook 

Passed childhood's happy hour. 

No greater treat 
For youthful feet. 

Than o'er thy mossy paths to tread. 
And seek each bashful bud where'er 

It hid its pretty head. 

No boon could be 
More sweet to me. 

Than by thy side to while away 
The dawning of the early spring, 

The noon of summer's day. 



58 



Upon thy ground 

The great, long mound, 

Tradition called an ancient grave. 
We deemed held still beneath the sod, 

An Indian warrior brave; 

Who, if we strayed 
In twilight shade 

Within thy dark'ning, lonely wood, 
Springing from his unquiet bed. 

Would haunt our homeward road. 

With awe around 
That grassy mound. 

We lingered with abated breath. 
There hung a fearsome dread around 

The mystery of death. 

The fading light 
Brought sheer afiFright 

Of some impending, dreadful doom ; 
With quickened foot we raced the path 

That led us safely home. 

Fair Violet Hill! 
Remembered still. 

When in strange lands my life work lay; 
I dreamed of thy sweet, op'ning flowers. 

Whene'er came smiling May. 

A score of years 
Of hopes and fears 

I passed in distant scenes away; 
Then sought again the olden home, — 

My hair was tinged with gray. 



59 



A friend and I 
Were riding by, 

Where fertile fields were fair to see ; 
She smiling pointed out the path 

Toward Violet Hill, to me. 

All changed to me ! 
No grove I see. 

No oak trees growing brave and tall. 
A grassy knoll, a walled-in spring. 

No memories recall. 

The children free 
From school, to me 

Oft tell of pleasant hours they pass 
At Violet Hill, where smiling still 

Spring blossoms in the grass. 

I cannot stray 
The olden way 

Their eager footsteps gladly trace; 
To me the dear loved spot would wear 

A dead and silent face. 

I'd rather still 
Oh! Violet Hill! 

Recall the youthful bloom and pride. 
That placed thee in fair Memory's hall. 

An image glorified. 



60 



DEAD TREES OF MUDDY CREEK 

A swift flowing stream 

By its green banks raced by. 

Above its bright waters the blue beaming sky, 

Sent down its bright sunshine, 

Its warm, sunny glow, 

To the depths that reflected its passion below. 

The hillsides were green 

With the beauty of May. 

The woods with the music of songsters was gay. 

Life waking to gladness. 

To music and light, 

Was everywhere sunny and winsome, and bright. 

But out in the midst 

Of the swift flowing stream, 

An islet of low, sandy gravel is seen. 

Upon it are standing 

Tall trees, side by side. 

Bereft of their beauty, they slowly had died. 

While their brethren were growing 
So stately and fair. 
They drooped their torn branches 
In sullen despair. 
Now a dark blot they stand 
On the bright, sylvan scene, 
Grim, gaunt, and bare, while their brothers are 
green. 

When the desolate winter 
Had thrown its cold chains 

Over mountains and streamlets, o'er rivers and 
plains, 

6i 



The snow fell in masses; 
The ice gathered high 

On the face of the stream, where the steep banks 
drew nigh. 

When the sunshine grew warmer, 

The stream struggled long 

To cast off its burden, so heavy and strong. 

And the mountain snows melting. 

Washed down in their surge, 

The ice that lay piled in the dangerous gorge. 

It rushed o'er the islet. 

And stripped every tree 

Of its bark and its branches. A dead memory — 

They stand in the summer — 

Of beauty and life. 

That perished amid the fierce elements' strife. 

Thus often we see some desolate heart, 

From hope and from happiness set far apart. 

Swept by destruction, 

When passion rushed by, 

Its love and its beauty in ruins doth lie. 

The burden of sorrow 

Crushed down overhead. 

And it stands in the stream 
Of Eternity — dead. 



62 



WASHINGTON 

Feb, 22. 

This day where'er America's 
Free children wander thro' the world, 
Where'er o'er land, or stream, or sea, 
Her star-bright banner is unfurled, 
One thought fills every throbbing heart, 
One name is heard on every tongue; 
Emotions patriotic rise, 
And patriotic hymns are sung. 
Wherever Liberty abides. 
However poor her home may be, 
Her sons of every rank and clime 
Make this a nation's jubilee. 

With retrospection's magic power, 
From old Virginia's sacred soil, 
Evoke the ghosts of buried years, 
Westmoreland's rising youthful hopeSj 
Mount Vernon's later funeral tears; 
Recall the shades of patriots slain 
On every bloody battleground ; 
The forms that vanished in the smoke 
Of clouds that over Trenton broke, 
Whose heavy booming sound awoke 
Echoes that thrilled the world around; 
Like ripples, widening as they go. 
Across the current's rippling flow. 

Rising superior to them all. 

Behold the Nation's sentinel! 

Where Braddock's soldiers fought and fell 

He braved the red man's steady aim ; 



63 



At Princeton and at Monmouth too, 
Amid the cannon's flashing flame, 
We see his form undaunted stand. 
Like some strong fortress, grim and grand. 
His trust in God's o'er-ruling hand. 
And when amid the want and care 
Of Valley Forge, he knelt in prayer, 
We know that noble. Christian, brave, 
God destined him this land to save. 
He rose, a star to lead the way 
Where'er oppression's shadow fell; 
With wisdom, power, heaven-given. 
Dissension's hate and wrath to quell. 

Along the historic page of Time, 
Like pearls strung on a golden chord, 
We see the gleaming of his deeds ; 
The love that shone in every word. 
For that dear country, which in song 
Is called "The Land of Washington." 
Oh ! may we ever on this day 
Our grateful tribute to him pay; 
Our loyal wreaths around him cast, 
Who first in war, and first in peace, 
And first in every heart shall be; 
Whom children's children shall revere. 
While life remains, or Liberty. 

As you fair star we see afar. 
Revolving o'er its destined way, 
Keeps not its beams alone to grace 
The azure depths that round it lay, 
But, glancing down the eternal years, 
Flashes its arrowy rays of light. 
Far reaching thro' the endless space, 
A beacon in the darkest night. 

64 



And tho' beyond all human ken 
If that bright star has ceased to shine 
Long years agone — its steady light 
Still reaches us with power divine: 

Like that fair star, our Washington, 

Lights not alone our country's sky. 

The radiance of his fame belongs 

To universal Liberty. 

While live the thoughts of trials past, 

While earth, or truth, or right shall last. 

His name, and fame, and memory. 

To every freedom-loving heart 

Shall prove a priceless legacy. 

Like that bright star, his memory 

Shall pierce the mingled labyrinth 

Of hopes and fears 

That mark with tears, 

The struggling of the human race 

From out the depths of tyranny, 

The light that shone his fame around, 

The aims that placed his name so high, 

Shall flash across the shores of time, 

To brighten dim futurity. 

His birthplace of no clime shall be; 

Throughout all lands, in every age — 

The Mecca of a world-wide hope. 

His grave shall be earth's pilgrimage. 



65 



DE SOTO 

Beside the swiftly flowing wave 

A rude canoe was lying; 
The sunlight on the earth smiled down, 

And soft the breeze was sighing 
Along the river's wooded bank, 

Where one brave heart lay dying. 

His comrades gather round his head 
In mute and mournful grieving; 

A last sad clasp and brief farewell 
From their loved chief receiving, 

Who, in the pride of life and strength. 
This fair world fast was leaving. 

When midnight shadows, dim and gray, 
On land and wave were lying, 

A rude canoe with heavy hearts 
Was o'er the waters flying, 

And still the zephyrs soft along 
The river banks were sighing. 

But neath the pall of waters dark 

A manly form lay sleeping. 
Unmindful of the bitter tears 

In eyes unused to weeping; 
While stars in the bending skies above 

Their silent watch were keeping. 

'Twas years agone, yet his memory 
Still lingers round that river; 

And still the waves are chanting o'er 
A dirge that ceases never. 

And on its banks De Soto's name 
Shall be remembered ever. 



66 



ACROSS THE BAR 
Savannah, Ga. 

Outside the bar the buoy-bell rings: 
The breakers roll their lines of white, 

On Tybee's isle the tide waves swell, 
And shines the light-house beacon bright. 
Far o'er the waters thro' the night. 

Across the bar our good ship rides, 
While sunlight shimmers on the sea. 

We pass by Tybee's sandy beach, 
With Carolina on our lee, 
Where waves her proud palmetto tree. 

We pass historic walls that stood 

To bar the passage of a foe; 
Pulaski's grim old battlements 

Keep watch upon the river's flow. 

As in the days of long ago. 

By shelving isle, by lushy bank, 
We sail low-lying shores between. 

With devious ways and turning oft 
The river winds its curves of green. 
Where fair savannas grace the scene. 

Oh, river, flowing to the sea! 
Bringing thy tribute to its tide. 

From uplands that far inland lie; 
Upon thy placid bosom glide 
Out-going ships to ocean wide. 



67 



And far without the river-bar 

There come white sails with eager wings; 

They fly on the incoming tide, 

To fill their breakers from thy springs 
And still the buoy-bell swings and rings. 

Beyond the curves of emerald green, 
Savannah's graceful spires arise; 

Maid of the Forest, robed in light. 
She sits beneath her southern skies, 
And o'er her head the sea-gull flies. 

Around her border springs the pine, 
Magnolias yield her incense sweet; 

The live-oak, Avith its misty veil. 
Protects her from the summer heat; 
Her sea-isles sleep around her feet. 

Still out across the river-bar 

The waves bear dancing crests of white; 

The buoy-bell rings; but safe in port. 
Our hearts are throbbing with delight, 
When fair Savannah greets our sight. 



68 



SKY ROCKET HEIGHTS 

On high Sky Rocket's brow to stand, 
And gaze abroad o'er all the land, 
That widens out on every hand. 

Is "joy akin to pain." 
To breathe the purer, fresher air, 
To see God's imprint everywhere 
Lifts the dull weight of earthly care, 

And makes us free again. 

From high Sky Rocket eager eyes 
Can see along the southern skies, 
The Oregonian mountains rise 

O'er the horizon's rim. 
Far, far away, the silver peak 
Of Mt. Rainier, plays hide and seek 
With mists, that make our vision weak — 

An outline gray and dim. 

Against yon blue, the sun-rays glow. 
Italian skies no brighter grow. 
No deeper tints of blue bestow ; 

There shines no brighter sun. 
No fleecier clouds flit o'er the blue; 
No scene more peaceful to the view — 
Here Haste forgets — the world is new — 

And life has just begun. 

The noontide sunlight shimmers down 
On varying reaches, red and brown; 
On hillsides, with their glittering crown 

Of yellow, rip'ning grain. 
While meadow lands and banks of green 
Are in the lowlier canyons seen, 



69 



Curving the rising hills atween, 

Toward the wid'ning plain, 
Where southward Walla Walla lies, 
Resting beneath the sunny skies; 
While round her blue the mountains rise. 

Guarding her fair domain. 

Moulded by some supernal hand, 
A thousand hills in silence stand. 
Like carven billows, rolling grand 

Upon a tideless sea. 
And from Sky Rocket's top-most height. 
We upward look beyond our sight. 
To catch a glimmer of delight 

From far Eternity. 

For here the little ills of life, 

The hurrying, worrying, petty strife, 

With which our lower days are rife. 

Fade in this higher air. 
And from this nearer, earthly height. 
Subject to clouds and hours of night, 
The soul wings up on loftier flight. 

Dropping its robe of care. 

To have our feet with reverence shod, 

That we may walk and talk with God 

On heights sublime where saints have trod- — 

Is "joy beyond compare." 
Walla Walla County, Washington. 



70 



THIS BEAUTIFUL WORLD OF OURS 

Bright Spring-time is coming. 

The voice of the birds 

In musical tones woo the air, 

And flowers unfolding 

Amid their green leaves, 

Are making the world still more fair. 

'Tis a beautiful world, 

Let us look where we will, 

Over valley, o'er meadow and plain. 

When the bright sun is shining. 

And Spring-time is here, 

Oh, who of this world dare complain! 

It is true that our hearts 

May be heavy and dull. 

Our lives full of trouble and care, — 

Yet brooding o'er sorrows 

Is making them worse — 

So let us get out in the air. 

Cast off thought for awhile, 
Or the thoughts that care brings, 
And drink in the breath of the morn. 
Gather buds gemmed with dew. 
And the green, trailing vines 
Your lives and your homes to adorn. 

'Tis a beautiful world ; 

But the trouble and care 

That darken the bright Spring-time days, 

Grow out of our lives. 

Spring up in our hearts. 

And lead us astray in our ways. 



71 



'Tis each moment of time 

That is wrongfully spent; 

'Tis trifles — 'tis things left undone, 

That darken the world that 

Our spirits move in, 

And shut out the dear, blessed sun. 

Oh, how bright might our lives be! 

Our hearts, oh, how glad! 

Did we only resolve that we would, — 

With the help of our God, 

His blessing upon us, 

Be sure to do all that we could — 

To lighten the burden 

Of others around us, 

Speaking kindly to all that we meet. 

'Twill lessen our cares 

To help others bear theirs, 

And make our own lives pure and sweet. 



72 



THE FISHERMAN'S WIFE 

One morn I chanced to while away 
An hour by the murmuring sea, 

And there was told the simple tale, 
Which I will tell again to thee. 

Fair shone the morning sun one day, 
One morning toward the end of Spring, 

When Harry sailed across the bay, 
Like some sea bird with snowy wing, 

His little craft sped from the shore 

And gaily flew the waters o'er. 

The day passed by in household care, 
My tasks were few and soon were o'er ; 

And then toward the even fair 
I sought the dear familiar shore. 

Where oft before at twilight gray, 

I watched his boat come o'er the bay. 

All day the sky so bright had shone. 
My heart was singing with delight; 

For Harry, though a fishing gone, 
Was coming back before the night. 

At home, our simple meal was spread 

Of fresh-caught fish and oaten bread. 

The shadows lengthened by the shore. 
The sun went down in clouds of gold. 

No white sail skimmed the waters o'er. 
The evening air grew still and cold, 

And darker shades athwart the sky 

Gave tokens of a tempest nigh. 



73 



Alone upon the sandy beach, 

My heart was sore and wild with fear; 
Far out across wild ocean's reach, 

I saw no sail nor boat appear. 
But darker yet the storm-clouds gather, 
Shutting out sea and sky together. 

On bended knee to God on high. 

The mighty Ruler of the sea, 
I prayed aloud with streaming eye, 

To bring him safely back to me. 
Amid the darkness and the rain. 
Weeping, I prayed — and not in vain. 

The winds had ceased their stormy cries. 
The long night hours wore slowly on. 

Upon the sands with straining eyes. 
With hope and reason almost gone — 

I watched the tide waves rising slow. 

With fitful and uncertain flow. 

I heard in fierce and wild unrest. 
Outside, the sullen breakers roar. 

I saw the w^aves with foaming crest 
Strike high against yon rocky shore. 

Helpless, I knelt beside the sea. 

Helpless, alone, in misery. 

The wind came now in lengthened swell. 

The pale moon showed above the cloud. 
I heard the distant mid-night bell; 

In one swift prayer my head was bowed, 
For faintly came a far halloo. 
In tones whose accents well I knew. 



74 



Out in the bay not half a mile, 

The lighthouse lantern gleaming shone 

Upon yon low and barren isle. 

With white sail torn and rudder gone, 

He scarce had gained its shelving side, 

Just as his boat sank in the tide. 

But yet the danger was not o'er. 

The isle lay low upon the sea. 
The tide was creeping up the shore. 

An hour more of misery — 
The waves would sweep his hold away. 
And he might drown within the bay. 

I oft had rowed a boat before. 

The lighthouse gleam shone far and wide. 
With steady stroke I pulled from shore, 

If death or danger should betide , 
I recked but little — what was life 
If Harry died — to me, his wife! 

I saw the waves come rushing in. 

My little boat rode o'er the flood. 
And when my hope and strength seemed gone, 

By Harry's side, I breathless stood. 
And just in time — a short delay 
Had swept him out into the bay. 

Swiftly we sped back o'er the sea, 

Upon the rolling billow's foam. 
With thankful hearts we bent the knee, 

To Him, who brought us safely home. 
When morning dawned the sands lay strewn. 
With fragments of the midnight ruin. 



75 



Ah, Lady! may you never know 
Such daily struggle for your bread; 

The dangers fishers undergo, 

With waves below and storms o'er head. 

May ne'er your weary eyes o'erflow 

With tears like fishers' wives must shed. 

And yet content and blithe are we. 
Tho' dwellers by the changing sea. 



76 



CHRISTMAS IN NORWAY 

There is a land, a far-off land, 

Across the ocean's foam, 
Where Christmas-tide makes children glad, 

As children here at home. 

On the rock-bound coast of Norway, 

The waves dash noisily; 
And the sandy shores of Sweden 

Outline the Baltic Sea. 

There where the Christ-child's coming 

Brings gladness in its train, 
The little birds can gather 

Their Christmas feast of grain. 

The golden sheaves uplifted 

High o'er each barn and home, 

Are thronged with feathered songsters. 
Who hither quickly come. 

From distant cote and tree-top, 

From the o'erhanging eaves, 
From every nook and cranny 

They flutter to the sheaves. 

Within the farmer's cottage. 
Thro' the frosty window-pane. 

Looked out the little Deena 
At the birds among the grain. 

"Come Karl," she called her brother, 
"Hear how the glad birds sing! 

They know the holy Christmas 
Must something for them bring. 

77 



"For did not our dear Master, 

The dear and holy Child, 
Who loved all little children, 

And even on them smiled. 

"Did He not say the sparrows 

Are in our Father's care? 
So now when we have Christmas, 

The birds our joy must share." 

Then little Karl looked gravely 

Out thro' the frosty pane. 
And heard the joyous twitter 

Among the golden grain, 

And said "If the blessed Christ-child 
Makes little birds His care, 

When I own farm or grain fields. 
Then I must do my share. 

"The birds shall come each morning 
And find fresh sheaves of grain, 

And twitter to each other 

"Tis Christmas come again.' " 

Dear Children, seek the needy, 

Wlierever they may roam, 
And fill some heart with sunshine. 

Like that within your home. 

Kind words of heart-felt greeting, 

A word, a gift, a smile. 
With kindly intent proffered. 

May many a grief beguile. 



78 



And the Christ-child at His coming 

Shall say, so tenderly, 
"Giving so freely, gladly, 

Ye gave it unto Me." 



79 



UPWARD! 

Among the woodland windings 
Sounds a triumphant strain, 

I strive to catch the numbers 
Yet ever strive in vain. 

Has the song a hidden meaning 
No mortal can attain? 

Tho' the sweet singer vanish 
Ere we can learn his song, 

The memory of the music 
Will linger with us long; 

And in some hour when sore beset. 
May make us brave and strong. 

Upon the shelving hillside 

The fairest laurels blow. 
Coward hearts should fear to climb 

From the green vale below. 
If any dare, why may not I ? 

For fearless hearts they grow. 

Across the stream we venture. 

To where the lilies lie 
Upon their broad green leaves asleep, 

Emblems of purity. 
If deeper grows the shallow bed, 

Am I afraid to try? 

The laurel blooms when gathered 
May wreathe another head. 

The lilies' beauty gladden 
Some sadder heart instead; 

Is it not bliss on other lives 
Such happiness to shed? 

80 



If ever in the valley 

Contented we remain, 
The laurel buds may blossom 

Upon the hills in vain ; 
And the heart may miss the meaning 

Hid in the singer's strain. 

We needs must struggle bravely 
If upward paths we tread. 

Sometimes we find the laurels 
Have turned to thorns instead, 

Yet thro' the devious turnings 
We still are upward led. 

If we rest, content to grovel 

In lowliness of life; 
With no thought beyond the struggle 

That marks earth's dreary strife. 
We ne'er can climb the hillside 

Of a higher, nobler life. 

No time for me for dreaming 
The precious hours away, 

Waiting the gifts of fortune 

Till closed be earth's brief day. 

Be mine the spirit daring 
To try the upward way. 



8i 



BRIGHT MOUNTAIN STREAM 

Bright mountain stream! 
Thou seekest sunny places, 

Where the light of heaven falls 
On thy woodland graces. 

Hiding in thy shadowed depths 
Speckled trout are lying; 

O'er thy gliding ripples bright 
Summer leaves are flying. 

Bright mountain stream! 
Thro' the forest straying, 

Shining bright the clear sunlight, 
With thy wavelets playing; 

Thro' the tangled meadow-grass, 
By the sweet-leaved clover, 

WTiere the ferns and fairies dwell 
In their forest cover; 

O'er thy rocky, shelving bed, 
In thy wild commotion, 

Ever striving, rushing on 
Toward the distant ocean. 

Bright mountain stream! 
Why this swift endeavor? 

Why from thy sequestered home 
Dost thou hasten ever? 

Doth the echoing voices call 
From the shells of ocean? 

Doth the sea's deep, distant roar 
Rouse thee thus to motion ? 



82 



Bright mountain stream! 
Beyond this present hour 

Lies the ocean of our lives, 
Engirt with sun and shower. 

From our sheltered infancy 
Restless streams are flowing; 

We upon the rushing waves 
Cannot retard our going. 

Bright mountain stream! 
When thy course is over, 

When drawn up in ether blue, 
Thou returnest in shower, 

Blessings bringing in thy train — 
Earth doth welcome thee again — 

Thou hast not lived thy life in vain. 
Bright mountain stream, 

How high thine aim ! 

Bright mountain stream ! 
May we with swift endeavor, 

Down drifting to eternity, 
Neglect our duties never. 

And when engulfed amid its waves — 
From shells of ocean calling, 

May words of ours have power to keep 
Some fainting soul from falling. 



83 



FIRELIGHT DREAMINGS 

In the gloaming of the evening, 

When the fire burns faint and low; 

And the fast-decaying embers 
Cast a faint and fitful glow, 

Then I love to sit and ponder 
O'er the scenes of long ago. 

Shadows rising, shadows falling, 

Take the form of other days. 
Flitting round us in the darkness 

Bright eyes gleam amid the haze. 
And fair visions of loved faces 

Greet again our wondering gaze. 

While thus musing, by us passing. 

Silently the hours go by; 
But our thoughts are backward turning. 

And we heed not as they fly. 
Hopes, long buried, keep uprising 

From the graves wherein they lie. 

Backward turning o'er the pathway 

Trodden by our later years, 
Meeting many a trace and foot-print. 

Strewn with flowers, or marked by fears ; 
Many a blossom bright tints showing, 

Many drenched by bitter tears: 

Onward pressing, still retracing 

Step by step, the sunny ways 
Leading down the grassy hillside 

Of our happy, spring-time days, 
Ere our feet had grown bewildered 

Wandering thro' earth's devious maze^ — 

84 



Come we to the smiling meadows, 
Where in infancy we strayed; 

Where we tried to catch the sunbeams, 
Or bright-blossomed garlands made; 

Or along the shallow borders 
Of life's streamlet fearless played. 

But the darkness, denser growing, 
Drapes the shadows on the wall ; 

And the embers, dropping slowly, 
Rouse us with their muffled fall. 

And from out the world of fancies 
All our wandering thoughts recall. 

Life has shadows, for the sunlight 
Shines not every day the same ; 

Bright from out the shades before us 
May burst forth love's brilliant flame. 

And life's sunset be the op'ning 

Of the gates to "Hame, sweet Hame." 



8S 



AMID THE STORM 

Amid the darkness and the storm, 
The night is passing slowly on, 

A wild, and wierd, and shrouded form. 
With every trace of beauty gone. 

From out the chambers of the North 
The fierce winds on their mission roam. 

O'er mount and meadow, breaking forth 
In wilder fury as they come. 

All the long hours dark and drear, 
Adown the roof the marching rain 

Is sounding in my strained ear 
[vike heavy tread of armed men. 

The tread of heavy, marching men — 

Tramp ! tramp ! tramp ! the hours drag by. 

And loud, and fierce, and wild again, 
The storm shouts out its battle-cry, 

Nature's strong forces marshaled stand; 

The earth, the air, the sky, the sea, 
Are but fulfilling God's command. 

How poor, and weak, and puny — ^we! 

O'er the wild reach of ocean waves 

We know the ships storm-tossed must go. 

Perchance ere morn old ocean's caves 
Will hold them fathoms deep below. 

Oh, night so wild! Oh, stormy night! 

When shall we see the morning dawn? 
When shall hope flash again like light 

Into our faces, tired and wan? 

86 



Shall our barques, beaten by the storm, 
Again float from the Arctic seas, 

And find a haven, safe and warm, 
Amid luxuriant isles of ease? 

Shall nevermore from off our brain 
The memory of the storm pass by? 

Must evermore the marching rain 
Mingle with every song or sigh? 

Ah, have we then so little faith. 
We cannot trust His guiding will. 

Who to the winds and waters saith, 
Storm-tossed and driven, 

"Peace! Be still!" 



87 



TO COMMUNION WITH NATURE 

'Tis balmy summer-time, when bird and bee 
On fluttering wing rise up to heaven. 
The queenly rose and modest daisy bloom, 
And Nature thrills us with her loveliness. 
Afar, beneath the cool and quiet shade 
Of those old trees, whose arms out-stretched seem 
To heaven's blue face, invoking blessings down, 
Upon the smiling fields, and meadows green 
That nestle at their feet — answering back 
Low-chanted anthems to the brook's sweet song — 
To those old trees I fain would fly to rest 
Upon the mossy turf. There to commune 
In singleness of heart with Nature's self: 
To read on her fair pages all of life — 
Its hopes, its griefs, its joys, its pains, its aims. 
And how we fail to make it good and wise. 
The petty cares that throng within our homes; 
The sullen discontent, the angry word; 
The frowning look, the banished smile, and all 
The nameless things — the thorns around the rose, 
That pierce us to the heart — are shattered chords, 
Creating discord on the harp of life. 
Ah me! how weary and how faint at times 
The spirit scarce can battle with its foes! 
Arm me ! Thou over All ! with armor proof 
Against the fierce assaults of sinfulness, 
With patience, penitence, hope, faith and love, 
That I may bless the glorious summer-time; 
That like the grateful flowers that daily give 
Their voiceless praises to the waiting air. 
My life may not be wasted — but fore'er 
Within my narrow sphere, be fragrant still 
With praise to Thee above. Cares fly away. 
Life smiles on everything this happy hour. 
And with the blessings of the ones I love, 
I am indeed most blessed. 



A FANTASIE 

The waves have moaned themselves to sleep, 

And all the beings fair, 
Who roam the halls of ocean deep 

Now rest in silence there. 

One vast expanse, where wave on wave. 

Fills up the boundless space ; 
There many a spirit, pure and brave, 

Has sought a dwelling-place. 

Some, where the coral reefs rise high 

O'er amber-colored plains; 
Some in the caves where zephyrs sigh, 

And summer never wanes. 

We dream of many a crew and barque, 

Lost 'neath the ocean foam — 
In sea-green graves, all dim and dark, 

Dead to their friends and home. 

But life blooms bright beyond our ken, 

Where fair sea-flowers blow. 
And fond hearts beat to love again. 

And hopes to fullness grow. 

Then fear no more the sounding sea; 

No mournful dead lie there. 
They rove their wave-girt halls as free 

As birds in upper air. 

They dwell 'mong sparkling treasures bright; 

Float lightly on the foam; 
And call lone watchers of the night 

Through ocean's caves to roam. 

89 



The dreamer lists at midnight hour, 
When witching thought roves free, 

And coerced by their mystic power. 
Leaps in the yielding sea. 

And there in realms where youth ne'er wanes, 

Nor pleasure ever pales. 
His days pass by in rapt delight — 

In ocean's moss-clad vales. 



90 



YON STREAM AND MILL 

The present with its hopes and fears 

Has vanished from my dreaming mind, 
Wrapped in a veil of falling tears, 

I leave them all far, far behind. 
Forgetting all the present hours, 

My thoughts have wandered to the past, 
Those days of youth and birds and flowers. 

That flew away, aye, all too fast. 

I mind me well the halcyon days 

Of summer, when I was a child. 
When roving thro' the forest ways, 

I, like the birds, was free and wild. 
Methinks I hear the murmur sweet 

Of that bright stream where oft I strayed, 
And list again the clacking beat 

Of the old mill wherein I played. 

What matters it to me that old 

And worn, that time-stained mill doth seem, 
The spider webs like threads of gold 

To my still partial fancy gleam. 
The present with its smiles and tears 

Into the future seems beguiled ; 
Forgetting all the lapse of years, 

I know myself — again a child. 

And gazing on the crystal stream, 

I drop all years and sorrow now. 
No sweeter draught the world e'er gave 

To cool my lips or bathe my brow. 
The mill-wheel in its ceaseless round. 

Throwing the foam like feathery snow. 
Still measures with its rhythmic sound 
The joyous hours of long ago. 
91 



Yon stream and mill! Yon stream and mill! 

Across the bridge of time ye come, 
And with your murmuring voices still 

Recall my wandering spirit home. 
Ye sing a song so bright and fair, 

Of other scenes and hours dear; 
Ye free the heart from grief and care. 

Yet fill the eye with memory's tear. 



92 



WHAT BRINGETH THE DAY? 

Heart joyous and free, 
What bringeth the day to thee? 
Thy hours have never been dark; 
Thou knowst no grief nor care; 
When the night's dim shadows fly, 
Will the coming day be fair? 
Will the future bring pleasure 
That life can never measure; 
And sunshine bright to crown thee 
With flowery garlands rare? 
What more can the day bring thee? 

Heart weary and worn. 
What bringeth the day to thee? 
Earth's burdens have made thee sad. 
Thy bosom weighted with pain; 
When the morning hours awake. 
Will the day bring grief again ? 
Shall the absence of gladness 
Make still deeper thy sadness; 
Will daylight cruel wound thee, 
And heavier forge thy chain? 
What more will the day bring thee ? 

Heart patient and strong, 
What bringeth each day to thee? 
Thro' the ever-changing years, 
Will each trouble lurking wait 
To assail thy courage high ; 
Will the days bring love or hate ! 
Seest thou the silver lining 
Beneath the cloud-folds shining? 
For life with shine and shadow 
Must forever alternate; 
What more can the day bring thee ? 

93 



SWEET VOICES OF THE NIGHT 

Ring out, sweet voices of the night! 

The winds will waft the sounds away, 
And list'ners on yon mountain height 

Shall pause to hearken to the lay. 
The echoes o'er and o'er again 

Repeat the sweet and plaintive notes, 
Till soft and faint the d5ang strain 

No longer backward to us floats. 
Sing soft and sweet the songs of home 

For those who wander far away, 
Where'er the dear ones reckless roam. 

Oh, Echo ! — send thy tend'rest lay. 

Sweet voices of the brooding night, 

Oh, seek those wanderers far away ; 
Who far from friends and home's delight, 

May in forbidden pathways stray. 
Where'er they go — in distant lands — 

O'er desert wastes — in crowded marts — 
May still the tender thoughts of home 

Have power to touch their wayward hearts. 
So sing, sweet voices of the night, 

That echoes floating o'er the sea, 
May woo those restless spirits back 

By magic of thy melody. 



94 



THE SPRING-TIME OF THE SOUL 

When the red breast robins sing, 
When the blue-bird's on the wing, 

And heaven overhead is bright and clear; 
In the bright, bright sunshine 
Of the bonny, bonny Spring, 

We forget that the winter has been drear. 

Hearts are beating, beating time 
To the happy, pulsing rhyme, 

That is throbbing thro' the warm and balmy air. 
The flowers ring their chimes 
To the sweet unspoken rhymes. 

That turn to joy, our discontent and care. 

From hidden springs upwelling. 
The wave of life is swelling 

In a flood of joy, tumultuous and bright. 
There comes upon us stealing 
A sense of rapturous feeling 

A fulness of contentment, life and light. 

Oh ! what pleasures, bonny Spring, 
Could the years unto us bring. 

If no season fair as thine blessed the earth? 
Polar regions lone and cold. 
Wind? that blow across the wold, 

Blighting every blossom at its birth. 

Welcome, bonny, bonny Spring! 
In your gentle train you bring 

Visions of the future, fantasies so rare. 
We long to raise our voices, 
Till every heart rejoices, 

In welcoming a visitant so fair. 



95 



Oh, heart, enveiled in sorrow! 
There lies a bright to-morrow, 

Beyond the clouds that now so threatening roll. 
See in the bright hereafter. 
There comes a blessed season. 

The bonny, bonny Springtime of the soul. 



96 



MARCH 

March brings wild and st6rmy weather, 
Rain and wind and wave together. 

All such days are dreary. 
Winter still is lurking near, 
And his sudden shafts we fear; 

Of his presence weary. 

March comes armed to the battle. 
All his forces round him rattle, 

Firm, alert, and steady. 
And they rush into the fray 
Driving Winter far away. 

March is rough and ready. 

Martial comes he o'er the mountains; 
Stirs the waters of the fountains; 

Breaks their bonds asunder: 
Stamps across the frozen field, 
Makes its stubborn surface yield. 

While we watch and wonder. 

Loud and bois'trous is his singing. 
To his song the woods are ringing; 

Sleeping trees awaken : 
Wave their leafless branches high 
To the dark and stormy sky — 

By the tumult shaken. 

Like a bugle loudly calling; 
Like a tender love-note falling; 

March has many voices. 
To the southern lands away, 
Float the echoes every day, 

And the Spring rejoices; 

97 



Hiding in her distant bowers, 
With her waiting birds and flowers, 

Listening for the token. 
Soon they wing their homeward flight 
To our northern hill-tops bright. 

Winter's reign is broken. 

Now thy warfare, March, is ended. 
Gentle Spring thou hast befriended — 

Driven her foes astray. 
Give a greeting to thy sister 
April, and when thou hast kissed her, 

Speed upon thy way. 



98 



APRIL AND MAY 

O'er the hillsides, 

O'er the prairies, 
Comes a trio of sweet fairies — 
Spring — with both her maids of honor- 
Fickle April — beauteous May; 
Each with varied garments on her, 
Robed as for a holiday. 

And the blossoms 

Are up springing, 
Orchard trees in rhythm swinging, 
Old Dame Earth is growing younger, 
Putting on a dress so gay. 
Touching up her cheeks with color, 
Primping for a holiday. 

Ah, poor maiden ! 

With grief laden, 
April has lost all her laughter — 
Who has treated her so cruel? — 
They shall soon their conduct rue. 
"You are only April's fool — " 
Mocking mouth makes she at you. 

Why so changeful. 

Naughty April? 
Art thou pert and pouting still? 
Well, I know a maid that's smiling; 
She is gentle, she is gay, 
And there is no false beguiling, 
In thy lovely sister, May. 



99 



Crowned with sunshine, 
Bright with flowers, 
Round her circle all the hours, 
Tribute to her beauty paying. 
April need no longer stay. 
All the world is going Maying- 
Dame Earth holds high holiday. 



lOO 



JUNE 

June comes with starry blossoms crowned, 
With fair hand-maidens thronging round ; 
And as her footsteps touch the hills 
They wake the voices of the rills. 

She paints the plains with varying light, 
And waving shadows, warm and bright. 
She floats throughout the azure air, 
Shedding soft incense everywhere. 

The busy bee with drowsy hum. 
Bears heavy burdens slowly home. 
The butterflies flit to and fro 
O'er swampy spots where mosses grow. 

The warm, warm sunshine softly falls 
On terraced walks and garden walls, 
Where hang the roses, red and fair. 
Scenting with fragrance all the air. 

They bloom their happy, careless hour, 
To fall a petaled, noiseless shower. 
A part of June's sweet mission bright 
Thrilling our hearts with pure delight. 



lOI 



SUMMER 

I see the springing grasses at my feet, 

The daisies nestling in their leafy bed. 

I see the halo round the Summer's head, 

And hear her singing, sounding low and sweet. 

Their flowery garments all the hillsides spread 
Where'er her dancing footsteps touch the ground. 
The rosy sunshine of the east is wound 
In folds of beauty her lithe form around; 
And trailing branches 

Of the sweet wild rose. 

Circle her pathway, 

Whereso'er she goes. 

She comes from Southern lands where spices rare. 
With fragrant perfume scent the warmer air, 
She brings the passion of the torrid zone, 
Flinging its fierce desire to wake our own. 
And from those bow'rs where warmer flowers grow. 
And sun-kissed blossoms lift their eyes aglow, 
She steals the glory of their brilliant sheen 
To deck our smiling vales and meadows green. 

On airy pinions thro' the lambent air 
She flits in fleecy veilings soft and fair. 
Shedding the brightness of her airy grace, 
Like benedictions, on each barren place 
Where wrathful winter threw his scepter down, 
And left the impress of his fallen crown. 
We meet her starry eyes where'er we turn. 
And 'neath their magic gaze our bosoms burn. 

We bless her presence in our smiling land ; 
We love the clasping of her friendly hand, 
That leads us gently o'er the weary way. 
And with fruition crowns each passing day. 
1 02 



INDIAN SUMMER 

When Winter folds his mantle white, 
And stalks away to northern skies; 

When April comes from southern climes, 
With smiling face and sunny eyes — 

How wakes the world to visions bright! 

The violet in its leafy home. 

Entrances us with sweet surprise. 

Arbutus sweet, beneath our feet, 

And daisies with their patient eyes, 

Tell us that Spring again has come. 

What heart but beats in unison, — 
When nature thus doth wake again, 

Bringing her treasures, fair and sweet, 
Into the homes and hearts of men — 

With the great work she hath begun. 

How throbs with warmth the summer day. 
When royal sunshine smiles on all; 

When humming bird and busy bee 
Flit o'er and round the garden wall. 

And roses blossom by the way. 

But fairest, sweetest, heaven sent, 

Comes this great calm of autumn-time; 

This crowning glory of the year 
Within my spirit keepeth rhyme, 

And there-in maketh great content. 

The smoke of incense, morn and night. 
Is resting on the purpled hills — 

Nature's thank-offering to Him 

Who, with His bounteous mercy, fills 

Her granaries of life and light. 
103 



Ah! Pain and suffering fly away. 

And bright reflections from the past 
Are gleaming round us, in the glow 

The golden clouds at sunset cast — 
Meet omen of a brighter day. 

SHADOWS 

Upon the mountain top the sun 

In glory shines, with majesty divine; 

My longing heart would in his glow recline, 
My anxious thought my lagging steps out-run; 
Yet distant shines the glory yet unwon. 

Dark o'er my path the shadows float between, 
And the bright beams my eager claspings shun. 

While farther still recedes the dazzling sheen. 
So shines the light on life's high mountain brow. 

Bathing in glory all the distant crest, 
Yet ever as my longing visions grow. 

Striving to reach the beautiful and fair 

In which I fain would find my spirit's rest, 
Dark shadows float around me everywhere. 



104 



A BOAT SONG 

In the bright moonlight merrily 

Swift o'er the waves we go; 
Our voices mingling cherrily, 

With the river's rippling flow. 
Oh! happy hearts, how lightly 

The moments pass ye by. 
When moon and stars beam brightly, 

Life's troubled shadows fly. 

List, list to the echoes sounding, 

From bank and wooded hill; 
From wave unto wave rebounding 

Sweet murmurings echo still. 
Ah! happy hearts, may joy thus 

Sound thro' the years to come. 
And midst the world's rough billows 

Be round ye as ye roam. 

Softly the starlight is kissing 

Each fair and youthful brow, 
And hearts their hopes are telling, 

In tenderest converse low. 
May Time e'er press as lightly 

Upon each sunny head, 
And Love cast e'er a halo 

Bright as the moon doth shed. 

Then send the boat on merrily, 

With willing hands to row. 
Sweet voices mingling cherrily 

With the river's rippling flow. 
Ah, happy hearts, why should we 

The moments sigh away, 
WTien hope and joy surround thee 

Beneath the moon's bright ray. 
105 



DUKE DONALD OF ISLA ISLE 
First Part 

Sir Perq^ Wilde, a red-cross knight, 

Who erst in Palestine, 
Had won for deeds of valor bright, 

High praise from all, I ween. 
Had brought with him from Holy Land 

His fair and only child ; 
And many knights had sought the hand 

Of Lady Ina Wilde. 

But this fair lady loved them not. 

Her thoughts were wont to stray 
Oft to the one she ne'er forgot, 

Tho' far he roamed away; 
A stranger, unknown, youthful, brave. 

Of gallant form and air. 
Who from old ocean's clinging wave 

Had saved this maiden fair. 

And she so rich in loveliness. 

And fair beyond degree, 
What wonder is it love should bless 

Two hearts so young and free. 
But, proud and stern. Sir Percy Wilde 

Had spurned the weeping girl ; 
And swore that ne'er of his a child 

Should wed a lowly churl. 

"Bethink you, maid, how many high 

And noble, tend your will." 
But she, all weeping, would reply— 

"Father, I love him still," 

1 06 



Then angrily Sir Percy said — 
"By all that's good and ill, 

If e'er a child of mine doth wed 
This Hugh of Darro Hill — 

"May all the fiends of earth and sea 

Thy brightest days o'er cast; 
And all the joys that bloom for thee 

Be far too frail to last. 
May all the love that now ye prize 

Be turned to direst hate; 
Thy days turn to long nights of sighs, 

Accurst by gloomy Fate," 

Upon a rocky mountain steep 

The castle walls rose high. 
Rose far above the caverned deep. 

Beneath a frowning sky. 
And here within its buttressed walls. 

That overlooked the sea — 
Yet still a prisoner — thro' its halls 

Fair Ina wandered free. 

For here upon this rocky height, 

Sir Wilde kept watch and ward, 
With chosen men of proven might, 

All faithful to their lord. 
For though he scorned the humble name 

Of Hugh of Darro Hill, 
He oft had heard his vaunted fame. 

And deeds of daring skill. 

The sunset cast a roseate blush 

On every wall and tower, 
Bringing a soft and dreamy hush 

To veil the twilight hour, 

107 



When Ina from her lattice bent 

And gazed beyond the bay, 
While many longing thoughts she sent 

To Hugh so far away. 

And as the stars with varying light 

Shone trembling o'er the sea, 
The maiden gazed into the night. 

Dreaming unconsciously; 
The measured tread of warders grim. 

Going their nightly round, 
By donjon keep, and court-yard dim, 

The one disturbing sound. 

And e'en their steps more quiet grew, 

While darker grew the night. 
Some power touched their vision too. 

Veiling all outward sight. 
Till every sense of hearing closed. 

They sank in silence down, 
Weary and worn, to seek repose. 

Nor dreamt of fear or frown. 

She dreamed — the night was growing dark 

Above a stormy sea, 
While waves washed o'er her fragile barque. 

Wildly and ruthlessly. 
A wave of dreary form and hue 

Grasped at her shrinking form — 
She woke — in the loving arms of Hugh, 

Who stilled her wild alarm. 

Beneath the folds of darkness deep 

That shrouded all the land. 
He scaled the rocky mount so steep 

With his well chosen band. 

1 08 



*'i came, my love, to seek for thee, 

My life's bright guiding star, 
That we, in love and hope may flee 

To mine own land afar. 
Firmly and strong each sentinel 

Lies bound beneath the walls. 
We must away ere morning's bell 

Doth wake these echoing halls." 

"Oh, Hugh!" she sobbed, "my angry sire 

Doth rate thee sternly still. 
And calls down dreadful dangers dire 

On Hugh of Darro Hill," 
"Ne'er fear, fair Ina, for his ire, 

For this I'll promise thee, 
That ere two months thy high-born sire 

Shall welcome thee and me." 

So down the steep with silent tread 

Hugh bore his lovely prize; 
And o'er the wild sea's crested wave 

Sailed far ere morning-rise. 

The wings of sleep had flown away. 

And bright the dawning shone 
Upon the castle old and gray — 

The prisoned bird was gone. 
And loud Sir Percy raved and swore — 

But all in vain, in vain. 
Afar on Scotland's rocky shore 

The loving pair remain ; 
And two full months will pass away 

Ere they return again. 



109 



Part Second 

'Twas in his old baronial halls 
Sir Percy stood to meet his guest. 
A stranger from the Scottish land, 
Entrusted by the Queen's command 
Unto his knightly courtesy. 
'Twas young Duke Donald of Isla Isle, 
Who came with power and pomp the while, 
And met his host with dignity. 

"Sir Percy Wilde, thro' foreign climes 
I've roamed for many years gone by, 
And I have seen thy daughter fair — 
Do not my earnest suit deny. 
I've wealth untold and spacious lands, 
And many wait at my command. 
Emboldened by our gracious Queen, 
I come to ask thy daughter's hand. 
I bear an old, unsullied name, 
My sword hath won me high renown. 
Yet thy sweet child is dearer far 
Than ducal coronet or crown. 
And at her feet I lay them down. 

"Alas, my Lord," Sir Percy said, 
"My erring child with wayward will, 
Two months gone by hath fled away 
With low born Hugh of Darro Hill. 
I mourn me much, for gladly would 
I give to thee her youthful hand; 
But now, alas! I have no child. 
No one to love in this broad land. 
She was as fair, as bright and pure, 
As any lady far or near, 
And now — I dare not stop to think, 
Tho' lost to me — she still is dear." 
IIO 



"Nay, Sir Percy, I'll win my bride. 
Thy daughter yet shall my Duchess be; 
For the sake of Hugh she left thy side. 
And yet she loves but thee and me. 
I won her love as a low-born youth, 
And she is my bride, good sir, in truth." 

There was mirth and joy in the castle halls, 
And lights shone bright from the castle walls, 
And happy hearts were there the while, 
To welcome the Duchess of Isla Isle. 



Ill 



A SABBATH DAY AT SEA 

Far out at sea the white-caps float 
Foam-tossed upon the billows high, 

A dark-edged rim of water shows 
Outlined against the morning sky. 

The sunbeams fall across the wave, 
A shimmering path of golden light, 

A way, o'er which swift-gliding feet 

May mount to radiant realms of light. 

Far off the ships, like white-winged birds. 
Skim o'er the billows, growing dim, 

Dip down, and vanish one by one, 
Beyond the ocean's blue-edged rim. 

We hail a steamer, southward bound, 

And wave a signal in the air. 
Upon the waste of waters wide, 

'Tis sweet a passing joy to share. 

We watch her climb each swelling height 
Or sink with every wave that dies; 

Then creep, a tiny thing of life. 
Along the gray of distant skies. 

How vast the deep immensity 

Where mighty billows roll! 
The ceaseless burden of their voice 

Awakes the careless soul; 

It speaks the strength, the power of God, 
Who holds them at His will. 

Bidding them rise in storm and might, 
Or sleep at "Peace, be still!" 

112 



Along the western evening sky, 

The sunset glories gleam, 
A golden plain, with roseate hills, 

The vision of a dream. 

We see the cloudland beauties grow 

'Neath an enchanter's hand, 
We trace the spreading fields of light, 

And shores of shining sand, 

Outlining many a molten sea. 

And isles of purple hue; 
While far above, thro' fleecy folds 

Shine glints of tender blue. 

Then shifting curtains drop their folds, 

And far-off castles glow 
On mountain heights, whose tops are white 

With drifting, scudding snow. 

And rosy flushes, crimson bars. 
Pierce every mountain height — 

A sunset scene of radiance, 
That throws a heavenly light. 

Down on a sea that darker grows. 

As evening shadows creep ; 
While tuneful voices sing their lay 

To soothe the day to sleep. 

Those evening hymns of praise and prayer 

Float o'er the waters wide; 
And hearts grow strong for life or death, — 

Whichever may betide. 



113 



LIFE'S NOT ALL A SUMMER DAY 

Life's not all a summer's day, 

Sunlight ever shining; 
Never a day vi^ill pass away 

That brings us no repining. 
The hours may fly vi^ithout a sigh, 

And joy heap up the measure, 
But sadness settles in the cup, 

And flavors all our pleasure. 

Froth and foam upon the crest 

Of the wave are flying; 
In the quieter depths below 

What priceless gems are lying. 
Richer treasures than the pleasures 

Floating on the billow's crest, 
Give me peace and sweet contentment. 

Gems that brighten home the best. 

Worldly joys cannot endure 

'Neath the touch of sorrow. 
The brightest day must pass away, 

We know naught of the morrow. 
If storms should fly athwart the sky, 

Ruining the hopes Ave cherish, 
How sad would be our destiny, 

If, unprepared, we perish. 

May storms be sIom^ to gather 

Around our onward way. 
May every hour of sun or shower 

Some benison on us lay, 
And when from light into the night. 

Our latter steps are turning 
With wakeful eyes 'midst sweet surprise, 

May our lamps bright be burning. 
114 



WERE I UPON A DESERT ISLE 

Were I upon a desert isle, 
Where never bloomed a rose; 

Where sunny flowers never smile, 
Nor murmuring streamlet flows; 

Where all is barren, sad and lone, 

And naught is ever heard, 
Save echo of the ocean's moan. 

Or cry of ocean bird; 

Where music never sweetly low. 

Has breathed its melody, 
E'en this would be an Eden now. 

If it were shared by thee. 

Or were I in that sunny land, 
Where fragrance fills the air; 

Where laughing billows kiss the strand, 
And all around is fair; 

Where wintry frosts will never come. 

Aught beautiful decay — 
This, this could never be my home, 

If thou wert far away. 

For home without the ones we love. 

Can never happy be; 
And Eden itself would lonely prove 

Unless 'twere shared by thee. 



115 



SUNRISE 

I see with shadowy gleam, 

Along the eastern sky, 
On fleet and airy wing. 

The blushing morning fly. 
Her rosy fingers touch with light, 
The sable curtains of the night. 

In undulating waves 

The cloudy mists arise, 
That veiled in darkened folds. 

The pathway of the skies. 
The flaming falchions of the day, 
Through clouds and darkness cleave their way. 

In changeful light and shade 

The distant hill-tops lie; 
The shadows of the vale. 

Pierced by bright arrows, die ; 
And tints that paint the earth below, 
Reflect the inner heavens' glow. 

Day's waving banners float 

On every mountain height. 
And o'er the smiling plain 

March all her heralds bright, 
Decking the world in glorious guise, 
With garments stolen from the skies. 

The smiling hours attend 

Where'er her footsteps go 
To see, with dazzled eyes. 

Amid the fiery glow 
Where proud old ocean clasps the skies, 
The dripping God of day arise. 

ii6 



MY LITTLE BIRD 

Dear little bird, I loved thee well 

Since that spring morning, when I found 

Thee lying on the cold, wet ground. 

Poor, helpless thing, 

With out-stretched wing. 
Storm-tossed from out the swaying nest, 
Thou couldst not fly. 
I gave thee food, and warmth, and rest. 

At first afraid of touch, and shy. 

Thou soon hadst plumed thy downy breast ; 

And grew so gentle and so tame. 

And learned to come when called by name, 

I thought thee here content wouldst stay. 

To sing to me each winter day. 

My little bird, thy kindred fly 

Across the blue of yonder sky, 

Afar to southern fields away. 

Their flight they can no more delay. 

And well I see each eager spring, 

That tries the bars with fluttering wing, 

In futile strivings to be free. 

I pity thee ! 

I pity thee! 
Thy prison bars shall opened be. 

My pretty bird, perchance next May, 
When birds are nesting every day. 
When apple blossoms fall like snow 
Upon the orchard grass below, 
From southern lands thy flight may be, 
Eager to see thy home and me. 



117 



Perchance some morn at early dawn, 
A bird-call from the dewy lawn, 
Familiar to my loving ear. 
Will warn me that my pet is near. 
And when I ope my casement wide 
A wild, swift rush of wings inside — 

My birdling. 

How I'll welcome thee! 
If thus thou wilt come back to me. 



ii8 



THE AUTUMN MORN 

Oh, dewy Autumn morn, 

When stillness broodeth deep ; 
No hurry and no noise 

To rouse a world from sleep. 
What fullness of content,- 

These early hours hold. 
What restful peace doth lie 

On mountain, stream and wold. 

The rays of roseate light 

Tint up the shadowy hills, 
And tinkling through the air 

Comes music from the rills; 
A bird song sounding clear 

Wakens an answering call, 
And out of the ether gray 

The light gleams over all. 

Oh, beautiful Autumn morn ; 

The spiders' webs shine bright. 
From post to post and tree, 

They shine in the morning light. 
The glittering drops of dew. 

Jewels on leaf and flower, 
Ephemeral pearls of night. 

Will vanish in an hour. 

The leaflets, dreaming still, 

Are rustling on the trees; 
And the voices of insect life 

Float on the gentle breeze; 
And from the distant town. 

The hum of busy strife 
Thrills the expectant air, — 

The world awakes to life. 
119 



THE SLEEPING CHILD 

It was a scene of quiet loveliness, 

The mother watching by her sleeping child, 

Who is his dreams half oped his eyes and smiled. 

Methinks the angels whispered to him then, 
Of flowery fields and meadows far away, 
And cherub voices calling him to play. 

He smiled to think how happy he would be. 
And longed to fly away, with them to rove — 
But ah — the power of a mother's love. 

He opened then his eyes of darkest blue. 
And met hers gazing down so tenderly. 
That all forgotten were those flowery meads. 
And in her arms he nestled lovingly. 

And once again the mother watched her child — 
But now no smile was on his infant face, 
Nor oped he his blue eyes with soft, bewitching 
grace. 

Peaceful and calm, in innocence he slept, 

No storms of life nor sin could touch him now. 

Nor passion stamp her seal upon his pallid brow. 

A rosebud, broken by a storm, he looked. 
Like flakes of snow, his little hands at rest 
Lay folded on his calm and pulseless breast. 

Yes, he has gone Math angel friends to dwell, 
And thou canst watch no more his cradle bed. 
Poor Mother, mourn thy loss, thy little child is 
dead. 



1 20 



gone! 

Gone! forever gone! 
And all the sweet, wild flowers the zephyrs loved, 
And came to woo in evening's twilight hour, 
Have drooped their sunny heads, and much be- 
moaned, 
The mistress whom their hearts so loved should die. 
The bright warm days, the sunny hours, and all 
The fair and beautiful, have flown away 
To other climes of warmth and light; and we 
Beneath the cold embrace and ling'ring kiss 
Of Winter, dark and wild, must still live on 
With tired and cheerless hearts, whence every hope 
That bathed the world in light, fore'er has gone. 
Ah, me ! Why must we live when those we love 
Have passed away and left us desolate! 
When earth seems one vast waste, where not a bud 
Nor flow'r of love remains to cheer the way ; 
But dark and frowning clouds o'erspread the sky, 
Hiding from us the shining star of Hope. 
Life stalks all dreary by, mid longings vain 
To pass away and be at rest, within 
The silent solitude, and solemn hush 
That hang around the tomb. 



121 



LOVE LIES DEAD 

My heart hath loved but thee alone 

Thro' all the years since childhood fled, 
Thro' all the cares that thronged us round, 

But now, alas! poor Love lies dead. 
'Tis not that I have sought or found 

A nearer, dearer one — ah, no! 
When once the winter frosts have touched 

A plant — that plant no more can grow. 

I do not know if thou art false. 

For that thy soul alone canst tell. 
Thou mayst have no higher aim 

Than thus to live thy life — ah, well! 
How bright the sun shines o'er some lives, 

How joyous speeds each passing day. 
While some poor souls of hope bereft 

In pain and sorrow pine away. 

I've missed life's sunlight, air and warmth, 

Met only chilling frosts and snow; 
Neglect hath wilted down the plant. 

And my poor love no more can grow. 
Then fare-thee-well-^ — oh, dreams of youth! 

Sad heart, thy burden bear apace ! — 
Walk on thy lonely way unloved, 

And cover up thy love's dead face. 



122 



THE CHIEFTAIN'S FAREWELL 

"The moon is sinking slowly, love, 

A down the western sky, 
But stars are beaming brightly, love, 

As beams thy dark blue eye. 
The soft south wind is roaming now 

Among the orange bowers, 
And swiftly, silently away 

Doth pass the midnight hours. 

Whene'er the first faint light of morn 

Shall make the hill-tops bright 
I must away, and with the day 

My barque be out of sight 
But weep not, love, for soon again 

I will return to thee, 
And never more afar I'll roam 

Across the deep blue sea. 

Then fare thee well, my love, my own ! 

My friends await but me; 
And I, their chief, must not delay. 

Farewell, farewell to thee!" 
He waved his hand ; into his barque 

He stepped with native pride; 
It bounded swiftly o'er the wave, 

Upon the rolling tide. 

And many moons had come and gone, 

And many years passed by; 
She waited for his safe return, 

Whene'er the night drew nigh. 
Ah, true, he said he nevermore 

Would cross the ocean wave — 
Upon its mossy beds below 

They all have found a grave, 
123 



Vet on the shore there wanders still, 

A form that once was fair; 
With moaning words and wailing sighs, 

And torn, dishevelled hair, 
She gazes wildly o'er the waste, 

And cries, "Why comes he not? 
The nymphs of ocean stole my lord, 

And I am all forgot!" 



124 



RETROSPECTION 

Looking back o'er the scenes of life, 
When youth was bright and gay, 

How clear the sky, how fair the flowers, 
That blossomed by the way. 

How joyous seemed the dancing hours; 

Each brought a new surprise; 
Views faded into views more fair, 

Before our wondering eyes. 

How sweet a thing is youthful hope 

That knows no sorrow wild; 
The future gleams distinct and bright. 

Before the aspiring child. 

No wasted hopes, no friendships dead, 
No dear ones loved and lost; 

No hearts aweary with their cross. 
With passion tempest-tossed. 

It knows not these; the balmy breeze 

Of Spring-time fills the air; 
The blossoms wake, the sweet birds sing. 

The world knows naught of care. 

Ah me, it makes me sad to think 
Life's spring-time lasts not long. 

Too soon the storms of life arise 
And hush the heart's glad song. 

The blossoms bloom their short-lived hour, 

Experience frosts them o'er. 
And down the years the waves of sin 

And sorrow beat us sore. 

125 



Ah, Friend! Yield not to dark despair, 
Though summer days are o'er 

A brighter day may dawn for thee. 
Upon life's other shore. 



126 



MY DEAR OLD HOME 

My dear old home! 'Tis a sheltered spot 

In the edge of the woodland shade, 
Where the brooklet pauses awhile to rest, 

Ere it parts from the mossy glade. 
And the wild flowers bloom far sweeter there, 

As they creep o'er the lowly walls; 
'Tis many a year since my voice hath waked 

The echoes within its halls. 

Ah, nowhere I'll find a lovelier spot, 

Than that home hath seemed to me, 
When wearied with childish roamings far, 

I lay 'neath the shade of its old oak tree. 
'Tis true I was ever a lonesome child, 

My playmates were only the birds and flowers, 
Yet there, in the shade of the forest wild, 

I passed my happiest hours. 

'Tis years agone since my infant feet 

First tottered around by its murmuring stream; 
But its memory comes to my faithful heart. 

Like the vision soft of some happy dream, 
I've wandered through pleasant paths of earth, 

And now o'er my native land I roam. 
And many a beautiful cot I've seen. 

But none I love like my old home. 

Its walls are gray with the moss of years. 

And weeds grow tall by the open door; 
It wears a sorrowful, lonely look. 

That endears it to my heart still more 
For the friends that lived in that loved spot. 

Will nevermore to its roof-tree come; 
And all that is left to my memory. 

Are tender thoughts of my old, old home. 
127 



FOR AN ALBUM 
Ships at Sea 

Launched out upon the changeful sea 
Of life, our ships float swift and free, 

To unknown lands where hope and joy, 

We dream shall be without alloy. 

With happy hearts and sunlit skies, 
With visions bright before our eyes. 

We dream of future years to come, 

When our brave ships shall turn toward home. 

Oh, ships that sail o'er unknown seas, 

With wealth as great as argosies. 

Will ye bring back when years have flown. 
Freightage as priceless as our own? 

Heavily laden, now ye ride. 

With tender thoughts, out with the tide, 

Will ye come from those far-off seas. 

Bringing us tender memories? 

Or sadly, slowly, will ye come. 
With poor dead loves amid the gloom? 

With bitter memories, bitter tears. 

Withered hopes and wasted years? 

Oh may thy barque, dear Celia, come 
Freighted with love and gladness home; 
And all the joys of life combine 
To make their sweetest fruitage thine. 

May smiling skies and pleasant ways 

Be o'er and round thee all thy days; 
And all thy ventures on life's sea, 
Come back increased tenfold for thee. 

128 



This book of thine launched on the tide 
And drifting round from side to side, 
When laden, homeward bound shall be, 
Freighted with tender thought for thee. 



129 



THE STARS SEEM BRIGHTER 

The stars seem brighter, love, to-night, 

Than e'er they seemed before; 
And softer falls their dewy light. 

Upon the lakelet's shore. 
A dreamy hush is in the air. 

And trembles o'er the sea; 
And life, so rich, so pure, so fair, 

Ne'er seemed before, to me. 

The pale, wild blossoms calmly sleep, 

And dream of other lands; 
No sorrow comes to moan nor weep 

Among their flowery bands. 
Clear, calm and bright, the bending skies 

Of love and hope are breathing; 
And with our happy passing sighs 

Soft tones are round us wreathing. 

In other years no storms had cast 

A shadow o'er the light ; 
And many a summer eve hath past 

As purely clear and bright. 
Yet, love, my heart is bound to-night, 

With spells of magic power; 
And never seemed earth half so bright. 

As in this starlit hour. 



130 



THE MOURNFUL RAIN 

Pattering, pattering all the night, 

The elfin footsteps fall. 

The elfin voices call, 
And haunt me till the morning light. 

Whispering, whispering sad and low 
The winds come moaning by. 
Wierd winds that weary sigh 

Unto the night their tale of woe. 

The shuddering rain, the weeping rain, 

It beats the window pane 

And sobs its drear refrain 
Thrilling the soul with throbs of pain. 

Ah, mournful rain ! Ah, sorrowful rain ! 
Weep thou the live-long night. 
Weep till the morning light. 

Lost joys can never come again. 

And yet, Oh, rain! Oh, generous rain! 
Though joys have passed away. 
There comes a brighter day. 

In which new flowers may bloom again. 



131 



THE EXILE FROM ERIN 

Farewell to Thee, Erin! 
Thou home of my childhood! 
I've wandered afar in the shade of thy wildwood. 

I've roved thro' thy valleys, 
Thy uplands roamed o'er. 
Yet now I am leaving thy emerald shore. 

How oft by thy streamlets 
I've wandered at even, 
And gazed on the glory that shone in the heaven, 

Till my heart in its rapture, 
Deemed the stars ne'er could be. 
As bright in their shining, as here over thee. 

The memories of home 
O'er my heart softly stealing. 
Are waking the waters of love and deep feeling. 

Till I sigh for the cot 
By the wide spreading wildwood. 
And the maiden who shared all my griefs in my 
childhood. 

Far, far o'er the ocean 
Our vessel is flying 

While the wind thro' the torn sails 
In sorrow is sighing, 

And echoes back sad 
To our passionate grieving, 
A dirge for the homes and the land we are leaving. 



132 



Then fare-thee-well, Erin ! 
I know not if e'er 
I shall ever return to thy green shores so dear. 

Should I die in my exile, 
My last words shall be 
The name of my Aileen, and farewell to thee. 



133 



DREAMS 

They come around us 

With magical power, 
To bless and to gladden 

Each lonely hour. 
Like strains of sweet music 

They steal o'er the heart, 
Recall happy moments, 
Bid sorrow depart: 
Bringing back visions of youth's sunny hours, 
When skies were unclouded, and bright were the 
flowers. 

They cheer the lone heart, 

Bid loved ones again 
Come round us to bless 

And caress us as then. 
Ah ! sad is the waking 

From memory's dream; 
To miss the soft glances 

In tenderness beam 
From eyes that are closed in a dreamless sleep. 
Resting 'neath the green sod or afar in the deep. 

Oh! bright, happy dreams. 

May ye ever come 
To brighten the lonely 

And darkened hearthstone. 
A softened light shedding 

O'er life's sad decay, 
And smoothing the weary 
And desolate way. 
Oh, bring back the forms of the loved ones gone; 
Bring them back to the haunts where I wander 
alone. 



134 



THE LOST SHEEP 

Thro' the dark night 

While the storm rages high, 
Out on the prairie 

Beneath the fierce sky, 
Wanders a storm-drenched and weary-worn sheep, 
Far from the fold where the rest lie asleep. 

Thro' the dark night 

With the rain beating down ; 
Danger around him, 
Too weary to moan; 
He sinks to the earth with fast glazing eye. 
If help come not soon he surely must die. 

"Where is my sheep, 

In the night and the rain?" 
The Good Shepherd cries. 
"He wanders again. 
Come back from the snares that lead you astray, 
Sharp thorns and briers lie thick in the way." 

Thro' the dark night 

Thro' the rain and the wind, 
The Good Shepherd hies 

His lost sheep to find. 
He carries him back upon His warm breast, 
And safe in the fold gives him comfort and rest. 
Search, brethren, search! 

For sheep that go astray. 
Work, brethren, work! 

Ere comes the close of day. 



135 



A LEGEND OF THE NORTHERN SEA 

Sometimes in dreams come back to me, 

Quaint stories I have read ; 
And tales of direful mystery 

Told by my childish bed. 

And one, a legend, old and grim, 

About the Northern sea. 
To memory seems growing dim, 

Since it was told to me. 

Once on a time in earlier days, 

An island fair and bright, 
Floated upon the Arctic waves, 

A dreamland of delight. 

A halo hung about its hills, 

A soft and misty crown; 
And brightly flashed its silver rills. 

Rippling its slopes adown. 

Sometimes it lay in sunshine bright. 

Far southward, when the days were warm. 

Sometimes it drifted in the night 
Of many a wild, fierce Arctic storm, 

And caught within its sea-worn caves. 

Rare treasures flung there by the waves. 

No earthly blossom ever grew, 

No wild beast had his lair. 
Amid its vales of drifting snow. 

Nor in its caverns bare — 
Which shone with phosphorescent light, 
And sent its radiatce thro' the night. 



136 



It echoed back no wild bird's scream. 

No ship e'er touched its side. 
But many a vessel saw the gleam, 

And watched its brilliant shadow glide 
Across the billows' whitened spray; 
And followed in its fiery wake 
The shadow they could ne'er o'ertake, 
Till, vanishing, it left them there, 
Bewildered, lost, they knew not where. 

And many a vessel ne'er came home 
That followed this enchanted isle. 

Drifting fore'er shall be their doom, 

And waiting hearts would break the while ; 

Waiting and looking from the shore, 

For loved ones who will come no more. 

There came a morn when o'er the sea, 
A stately vessel's sails flashed by. 

All homeward bound, with white wings free. 
Over the waves it seemed to fly. 

The arctic air was pure and clear. 
The waves were white with foam. 

No cloud foretold the danger near, 
No storm, impending doom. 

They saw far off a shining gleam 

Of something fair and bright; 
The mirage of some lovely dream, 

A gleam of life and light. 

With wonder all the sailors gaze 

Upon the enchanted land. 
That lures them to an ocean grave, 

Beyond its shining strand. 

137 



They sail all day, they meet the night 

Settling in darkness down. 
And yet the isle's illusive light 

Has nothing nearer grown. 

Its hills shine thro' the softened mist 

And ever higher grow; 
Their tops, by flashing glories kissed 

Reflect the fiery glow. 

The day passed by; a night of stars; 

The pale moon calmly smiled. 
The clear North star unwavering shone 

Above the Northern wild. 

At midnight hour they felt the throes 

That shivered thro' the shuddering waves, 

When o'er them fell the towering floes. 
Sinking them ail to ocean graves. 

Alas, for those in homes away, 
Whose loved ones journeyed here! 

Alas, for those whose hearts each day. 
Waited in doubt and fear. 

The vessel lies beneath the waves, 

In ocean groves atween. 
And all those forms rove ocean's caves, 

And meads of shadowy green. 

Yet two sank not — a maiden bright, 

A youth so good and true. 
That bright, enchanted isle of light, 

So pleasant to their view. 



138 



Was floating near, and only they 
Had gained its crystal side. 

And found within its sheltered caves 
A refuge from the tide. 

Upon another island near, 
The Ice-king frowning lay. 

His sceptre governed far and near ; 
All nature owned his sway. 

'Twas he that loosed the icy floes. 
Watching the ship sink down; 

But when he saw the youth escaped, 
There rose an angry frown. 

He sought the maid and softly spake — 

If she would be his bride, 
Fore'er for him this youth forsake, 

In queenly state to ride — 
"All gems of earth and pearls of sea, 

All richest treasures rare. 
And princely gifts I'll bring to thee, 

A wealth beyond compare." 

But trembling still she turned away, 
For his keen, chilling breath. 

And cold embrace made dark the day- 
It seemed the grasp of death, 

And then the king in anger rose, 
Sternly and loud he cried — 

"No mortal yet hath dared refuse 
To be the Ice-king's bride." 

So loosing from its icy chain. 

His island towering there. 
It sped with mighty strength amain, 

Upon this islet fair. 

139 



Down, down it sank thro' ocean space, 

While maidens of the deep. 
Sought out for it a resting place. 

Where fair sea-flowers sleep. 

This shining isle is still as bright 

As in those days of yore. 
Dwelling in the enchanted light. 

Sorrow its wing no more 
Waves o'er those lovers true and brave, 

From earthly troubles free; 
Dwelling beneath the ice-bound wave, 

Of the Northern crystal sea. 

And still they say, when nights are fair, 

And stars smile from above, 
A phantom ship in silence there. 

With sails all set doth rove. 

And many a tale the seaman tells. 
In the watches of the night ; 

Of the angry Ice-king's magic spells, 
And this youth and maiden bright. 



140 



LITTLE CHARLIE 

Little one, with blue eyes laughing, 

Where dost thou roam? 
In the forest depths art hiding? 

Is there thy home? 

Where the fairies hold their revels, 

In moonlit hours, 
Or in the morning's early dawn, 

Among the flowers? 

Laughing sprite, thy golden ringlets 

Kiss thy fair brow; 
On thy cheek are roses blending 

With lilies now. 

Clouds that rest on the mountain top. 
Are they thy home? 
Or the cataract's blinding spray. 
Or billows' foam? 

Thou art one of earth's fair children, 

From heaven sent, 
To bless and gladden weary hearts, 

A treasure lent. 



141 

10 



^ 



HAPPY HOURS 

Oh, happy hours in other days, 

How soon ye fled away! 
With hearts from care and sorrow free, 

Could ye no longer stay? 
Those were the hours and those the days 

Whan sin had not come nigh; 
Ere earthly cares and sorrow's trials 

Had caused the heart to sigh. 

Life still may seem as bright and fair, 

Its sky be just as clear, 
But Time has kept a record strict 

Of every passing year. 
And tho' the record is not seen, 

'Tis felt in every heart; 
And with those happy hours and days 

We have henceforth no part. 



142 



Years gone by 

Years gone by! Many a memory bright 

Hath lain within my heart shut in from sight. 

Faces we loved, and many a loving token 

Of once dear ties that time and change have broken. 

Thronged around with busy cares we never 
Do bring these memories forth, 'tis ever 
When twilight comes beneath a summer sky, 
We mourn in secret o'er the years gone by. 

Ah friends so near and dear, how oft it seems 
It must be real — it cannot be my dreams 
That bring thee back to me — nay, poor heart, sigh! 
'Tis only dreams — alas the years gone by! 

Rosy hues of childhood days have faded, 
Later days with clouds of care are shaded, 
There ne'er can shine for us as bright a sky 
As that which blest us in the years gone by. 



143 



GIVE MOONLIT HOURS TO MEMORY 

When moonbeams gild the mountain height, 

And ripple o'er the sea, 
And every echo answers back 

The hour's sweet minstrelsy, 
'Tis then I love to sit alone, 

And give to Fancy power 
To trace the past in fairest tints, 

And paint hope's rainbow flower. 

Or sit and hearken to the lay, 

Trilled by the nightingale. 
The cricket's chant, the streamlet's song, 

That thrills the quiet vale. 
And oft, methinks, I hear the tread 

Of some familiar friend 
Some loved one's voice, a tone, a sigh, 

With Nature's music blend. 

And when in other lands afar, 

Thy wandering footsteps roam, 
In moonlit hours, one thought, I pray. 

Oh, give to me at home. 
For then as glide the waters by 

Toward the distant sea. 
And moonbeams ripple o'er the wave, 

I'll sit and dream of thee. 



144 



"TOO LATE!" 

The roses of June 

Were blossoming, 
The earth and the sky were bright; 

The great waves shouted 

A pleasant song, 
As we M^alked on the beach that night. 

You remember it still, 

Thro' the years that have flown. 
For who that once loves can forget ! 

The light spoken words. 

And the hearts void of care, 
Come back to the memory yet. 

When the morrow came 

You sailed away 
To be gone but one short year; 

The year passed away, 

You came not back 
And my heart was heavy with fear. 

I mourned for you then 

As the years glided by. 
Till the roses of June bloomed fair, 

One morn I was wed 

In the old village church, — 
But my husband had silv'ry hair. 

He loves me much and 

His kindly heart 
Shall never so wounded be ; 

Go back to the paths 

You ought to tread, 
As a friend think only of me. 



145 



'Tis true that the thought 

Of those distant June days, 
Comes over me now like a spell, — 

I listen again 

The low tones of your voice. 
Amid the waves' deepening swell. 

Ah me, the past is 

Naught but a dream, 
And you have returned "too late." 

Love's roses have died 

With the roses of June, 
And our hearts must bow to their fate. 

I deemed you were false, 

Yet my heart did not break. 
And he in my sorroM^ was true. 

Farewell, there are pathways 

Where your feet can tread, 
And I have my duty to do 1 



146 



'TIS DARKEST ERE DAY 

When skies look the darkest and clouds lower down ; 
When fierce sounds the warfare and storms angry 

frown ; 
When stars veil their beams and the moon hides her 

face 
And darkness o'ershadows the infinite space, 
Be not disheartened, let nothing dismay, 
'Tis ever the darkest ere dawning of day. 

When fortune looks frowning and wealth taketh 

wings ; 
When each morn some new trouble, some weary 

care brings; 
When our pathway looks dark, and downward we 

sink — 
Or stand, all despairing, on ruin's frail brink — 
Be still fearless of heart, tho' sad seems the way, 
'Tis ever the darkest ere dawning of day. 

So when friends we most cherish, the loved friends 

of old. 
Forget "Auld Lang Syne" and grow stately and 

cold; 
When eyes that would kindle with love's beaming 

smile. 
Now sparkle no more with its bright witching guile, 
Let your heart not be troubled, no sorrow dismay, 
'Tis ever the darkest ere dawning of day. 



147 



When temptation assails and your heart faltering 

strays 
In sadness and darkness from Virtue's bright ways; 
When grieving you gaze to the fair skies above, 
And mourn o'er the sin that still tempts you to 

rove — 
Hoping and trusting, come back to the way, 
'Tis ever the darkest ere dawning of day. 



148 



TO-MORROW 

Doth the rain and the storm-clouds 

Darken the day? 
Do the hours seem dreary 

When the sky looks gray? 
The sun is still shining, 

Tho' storms make us sorrow ; 
'Tis sure to shine 
In its own good time. 
'Twill brighter be to-morrow. 

Does the heart have its trials 

Bitter to bear? 
Do the tears fall thickly 

From eyes dim with care? 
Hope's star is still shining, 
Tho' trouble we borrow; 
Its silver beam 
Will brightly gleam, 
Upon a bright to-morrow. 

Do the sin and the sorrow 

That hedge us round. 
Deal blows more quickly, 
Our spirits to wound? 
God's love is around us. 
In sunshine or sorrow, 
And we shall see 
In Eternity 
How bright 'twill be to-morrow. 



149 



CUPID 

Beware of love, for love is sure 
To rack and wound thee. 
Love is only fond of joys. 
Friends, if true, desert thee never, 
Love seeks newer loves forever; 
So beware of his caresses, 
For he hurts those whom he blesses. 
Cupid is a cruel boy. 

LIFE 

Life is an album full of leaves, 

Like those blank pages where no name is writ- 

So fair, unspotted, are our infant days, 

Before we tread in evil's many ways. 

And other days are like the leaves writ o'er 
From which the impress never will depart — 
The pages, blotted, spotless are no more — 
Our deeds may leave their scars upon the heart. 



150 



THE ISLE OF THE SOUTHERN SEA 

In the blue south seas 

An islet shone, 
Like a priceless gem 
In a jeweled zone, 
Or a star on the brow of night. 
Not fairer, I trow, could the home have been, 
Of Love, where he dwelt with his fairy queen. 
Nor brighter can glance the silver sheen 
Of a cloudless summer night. 

Its valleys were wreathed 

With roses gay, 

Violets blue, and the 

Eglantine spray. 

And bloom of the orange tree. 

xA.nd the wildwood held in its secret glade. 

The forest fay and the elfin maid. 

And in modest beauty thus arrayed. 

Shone that isle of the southern sea. 

Its skies were as bright 

As the gracious smile. 
Of the nymphs that dwelt 
On that sea-girt isle. 
And as clear as their eyes of blue. 
And the star-rays fell with a loving pride, 
In a flood of light on each mountain side. 
Till the islet seemed like a fair, young bride. 
Half veiled by the falling dew. 



151 



The streamlets sang ever 

A softened strain, 
To chime with the ocean's 
Tender refrain 
When it kissed the silver strand. 
And love was the theme of each song-bird's lay, 
As they trilled their songs at the dawn of day, 
And love was the life of each forest fay, 
And the soul of their happy band. 

Then come, my love, 

Wilt thou fly with me. 
And seek for that isle 
Of the southern sea, 
Where summer forever reigns? 
I will build thee a bower where the wild rose springs, 
In the wildwood shade where the streamlet sings, 
Or the jasmine fair its white blossom flings 
O'er the emerald-tinted plains. 

If that isle still floats 

On the southern sea, 
I'll make it a heaven 
Of love for thee; 
A haven of peace and rest. 
We'll float with the tide under summer skies, 
And ever before our wondering eyes, 
Shall visions of beauty and joy arise. 
And every hour be blessed. 



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CHRISTMAS-TIDE 

Judea's hills He far away 
Toward the dawn of op'ning day. 
The morning sun casts just as bright, 
O'er tower and tree its smiles of light, 
And in its vales, with steady flow, 
Life ripples on, as long ago. 

But from those hills our Saviour trod. 
Those vales blest by the Son of God, 
The ripples spread o'er every clime. 
And make each common life sublime. 
The waves of time shall bear them on 
To generations yet unknown. 

And from Judea's cloudless sky. 

From those green plains where shepherds lie. 

May rays of hope shine o'er the world, 

Messiah's standard be unfurled; 

And countless nations bless the day 

The Star arose to lead the way. 

Down the dim vista of the years. 
Thro' all earth's hopes and all its fears. 
The influence of its light is found. 
Its power is felt the world around ; 
And prized o'er every spot on earth 
Is that blest by the Saviour's birth. 

And as the restless waves of time 
Bring Christmas-tide to every clime, 
The passions cease, and love's sweet sway 
Controls the heart this happy day; 
We feel the ripples on our strand. 
Coming from far Judea's land. 

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As peace each troubled bosom fills, 
The peace foretold on Bethlehem hills, 
As hearts throb back "good will to men,' 
We hear the angels' song again, 
And Christmas sheds o'er all the earth 
The light that shone around His birth. 

Then louder still our anthems raise. 
Then lift our hearts in grateful praise, 
And sing the angels' song once more. 
Till, echoing, it reach the shore; 
Mingling with the murmuring rills, 
That sing His praise on Juda's hills. 



154 



